


The Best Medicine

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Comfort, Date Nights, Domestic, M/M, Pampering, Sick Danny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 55,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of mostly unrelated stories, in the theme of Steve doing something nice for Danny:</p><p>Danny is sick and Steve takes care of him.<br/>Or, Danny is in a bad mood and Steve tries to fix it.<br/>Or, Steve just decides to do something nice for Danny......<br/>Including a series of Date Night stories.</p><p>Most chapters can be read as stand-alones. Some are continuations and are marked as such.</p><p>*rating updated to M, mostly for drinking*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starting with pre-slash, and evolving from there, but not always in the same timeline and not always in order. Chapter notes will explain as needed.

“Go away,” Danny grumbled from under the blankets. “You’re just going to get sick too, and then who will there be to get shot at and make impulsive and reckless decisions?”

“Shut up and drink this,” came the reply, as Steve held out a steaming mug of something.

“No.”

“What are you, four? Drink this.”

“Leave me alone. Let me die in misery.”

“You’re not going to die. You have a cold. And not even a bad one.” Danny looked hurt at that, but Steve didn’t cave. “Drink. This. Now.”

Struggling to sit up, and making a good show of it, Danny reached for the mug and took it. “Oooff,” he groused. “That’s disgusting. What the hell are you trying to do to me? I’m already dying. Jesus, Steven.”

“You are not dying, and it’s just tea, you big baby.”

“What the fuck kind of tea is it, you insane freak? It smells like something died. And now _I’m_ going to die, so please. Just. Leave me in peace.”

Steve laughed. “Nope. Not leaving. And, for the last time, just drink it.”

“Fine. Then will you leave?”

Steve smiled. “Nope.”

Danny rolled his eyes, but he drank the tea, and Steve smirked.

“Seriously. I’m going to die now, so you can go.”

“Danny, I’m not leaving you alone like this so just shut up, ok?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, there’s a first,” Steve replied, amused. He went to the closet to find another blanket and tucked it around Danny. “Want me to read you a story?” He asked snidely.

“Fuck off,” Danny whined and disappeared under the blanket.

Steve smiled smugly, and settled in the bed next to Danny.

“Oy! Gerroff!” Came the muffled cry from under the blankets.

“Just go to sleep, Danno,” Steve said affectionately. “I’ll wake you up in an hour for another mug of tea.”

“Like hell you will,” Danny tried to yell, but ended in coughing.

“Shhhh,” Steve soothed, and rubbed the shoulder of the Danny shaped lump under the blanket. He thought he heard a contended sigh, and his smirk widened. “There you go, Danno.” He shook his head fondly, shifted to be more comfortable, and continued rubbing Danny's shoulder til he was sure he was asleep, and, maybe for a while after as well.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve stood in the doorway to Danny’s office. His partner was hunched over his desk, eyes red, nose dripping, practically wheezing.

“Go,” Steve said firmly, “HOME. Now.”

Danny huffed, and it was almost a sob. “Need to finish this first,” gesturing to his desk, which was a mess of piles of papers and Steve thought there were evidence bags there as well.

“No, you really don’t,” Steve replied, and he was trying to be stern, but he was feeling so squishy at the sight of a sick Danny, that it was hard. “What you need to do is get better, and ideally not contaminate any evidence....” He gave Danny a pointed look.

“I’m fine,” Danny insisted. “It’s just a little cold.” And he sneezed all over his desk.

“That’s disgusting, didn’t your mother teach you to cover your sneezes?” Steve sighed and closed the door. “Seriously, Danno, please. Go home. Go to bed. Rest.”

“Ok, ok, you’re right,” Danny sighed, and tried to stand. Tried and failed. Well, he stood part of the way up, then promptly fell back down into his chair.

Steve took a deep breath. “Ok, that’s it, I’m taking you home.” Danny just looked up at him pathetically and whimpered.

“Kono,” Steve called, sticking his head out of the office.

“Yeah, boss?” She asked, as she came into view. “Oh, my God,” she said when she saw Danny. “Get him out of here!”

“I’m going to. Call me if anything comes up? And, let Chin know when he gets back from his meeting.”

“Sure thing boss. Danny, get better, brah!” And she ducked out of the office quickly.

Danny moaned and banged his head against the desk.

“Ok, buddy,” Steve said, reaching an arm around him to pull him up. “Let’s go.”

Almost as soon as Steve got Danny loaded in the Camaro, he heard soft snoring sounds and saw that Danny had fallen asleep. He decided to stop off at the store on the way home (and, yes, he was taking Danny to his house, not that rat infested hole he called a home) to get some supplies.

When he pulled up at the house, he took the groceries in first, then went back out for Danny, who had just woken—barely.

“Whaa?” He asked. “Not my house.”

“That’s right, Danno. No way am I letting you stay there while you’re sick. It’s probably _why_ you’re sick. That place is awful.”

“Uh-uh,” Danny whined. “No, Steven. No.”

“Danny. Shut up. Come inside. Now.” He did his best to look threatening, and it seemed to work.

“Fine. But I hate you.”

“That’s nice,” Steve smirked as he helped Danny to stand, and led him inside. “Sofa or bed?” He asked.

“Mmmgh.” Danny replied, swatting at Steve who had his arm wrapped around him, holding him up.

“Bed it is,” Steve replied, and pushed him up the stairs.

Maybe the exertion of climbing the stairs had drained him, or maybe he just had admitted he really was sick, but Danny had seemingly stopped fighting it, and didn’t even protest when Steve pulled back the covers on his own bed, and sat Danny down. “Here,” he said, tossing him a pair of sweats and a tee. “Get out of those clothes, put these on, and get into bed.”

Danny grumbled, but started taking off his clothes.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said, heading out the door and down the stairs. He heated up some chicken noodle soup, put the kettle on for tea, and made one of those fizzy vitamin drink things. When everything was ready, he put it on a tray, and carried it upstairs to Danny.

Danny had the covers pulled up to his nose and was looking incredibly pathetic, and ok, maybe a little bit cute as well.

“Ungh,” Danny said, when Steve sat down next to him.

“Here,” Steve said, handing him the vitamin drink. Danny shook his head, and Steve glared at him.

“Did I mention I hate you?” Danny asked as he sat up to take the drink.

“Yep,” Steve said, smiling. “Good boy. Ok, now, tea or soup?”

“Whiskey.”

“Not till you’re better,” Steve said. “But there are popsicles if you eat all the soup.”

“Gah, you’re worse than my mom,” Danny said, but Steve thought he heard just a hint of fondness in Danny’s tone. He smirked. “Fine. Soup first.”

Steve sat back against the headboard, next to Danny, and held out the soup.

Danny looked over at him suspiciously. “What, are you going to sit there and watch me?”

Steve smiled.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud, Steven.”

“Ok, fine,” Steve acquiesced. “I’ve got some phone calls I need to make. I’ll just be down stairs. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

Danny shooed him and started eating the soup.

When Steve came back to check on him, Danny had finished the soup and fallen asleep. Pleased, Steve smiled, then carefully climbed into bed next to his sick partner and opened his book to read. Danny stirred slightly, and turned towards him, nestling up against him. Steve smiled even more at that, and reached out to brush the hair back from Danny’s forehead. He felt warm, but not overly so, Steve decided (well, he was checking his temperature, that was why he’d done it).

Allowing his hand to rest on Danny’s head, Steve sighed contentedly, and resumed reading. He could get used to this, he thought... though it sure would be nice to get to snuggle in bed with him sometime when Danny wasn’t sick....


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny loses his voice.

Steve was trying not to laugh. Well, to not laugh too loudly. Because, really. Danny. With no voice. Some things were just too, too fitting.

“It’s your own fault,” Steve scolded Danny, who was standing in the doorway to his office, holding a pad of paper and a pen, and pointing to an illegible scribble, and if looks could kill, Steve would be writhing in agony, but as it was, all he could think was how _cute_ Danny was when he was frustrated. “I can’t read that. Your handwriting is crap. Can you just text me?” And Danny threw the pad on the floor, walked over to Steve’s desk, and typed into the document Steve had open: _I hate you._

“I love you too, Danno,” Steve laughed.

Danny walked out and maybe he tried to slam the door, but those doors just didn’t slam well, and it was kind of a shame, because Steve was really enjoying this.

Steve’s phone beeped.

_I really really hate you._

He yelled out: “I know you do, Danny!” And laughed some more.

Fortunately it wound up being a fairly calm day, and the one time someone needed to go out, Chin insisted he and Kono take it, and Steve stay behind with Danny.

“Really, boss. You gotta do something about him,” Kono had pleaded softly as she and Chin told Steve they’d take care of it. “Take him home, put him to bed, feed him soup, tea, something.”

Chin agreed. “He’s miserable, and he’s just going to get worse, and he’s making _us_ miserable....”

Steve caved. “Ok, ok. I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, waving them out of his office.

“Come on, Danno,” he called through the door Chin had left intentionally open. “Let’s go home.”

Steve’s phone beeped.

_Fuck off._

“Real mature, Daniel,” Steve yelled. “Let’s go.” Steve saw Danny flip him off from his office, but he strode into the room and stopped. “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” He asked, and Danny gave him the death glare again. “Ok, fine by me,” and Steve started to walk over to Danny, and if Danny didn’t think he was serious, he had another think coming because Steve absolutely would pick him up and fucking carry him to his truck.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately, as Steve was actually thinking that sounded kinda like fun), Danny surrendered, and waving Steve off, he got up and made to follow him. He’d picked up the pad of paper from the floor after his little fit, and he brought that and a pen with him. Steve just smirked.

Once they were in the truck, Steve headed for his house, because no way was he taking Danny back to his. Besides, he was fairly sure all Danny would have at home was whiskey and cookies, and that was not the kind of medicine Steve had in mind, although he could do with a shot of whiskey about now.... Danny had figured out where they were heading and was trying to protest. Steve just smiled sweetly and pretended to not understand.

“Ass,” Danny managed to whisper, and it clearly hurt as he stopped trying to complain and just sat back and moped.

When they got inside, Steve headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Go take a nice long hot shower,” he called to Danny, who threw his arms in the air in exasperation but headed upstairs anyway. Steve smirked.

It didn’t take long till Steve heard the water turn on, and he took a deep breath. Ok, so maybe Danny wouldn’t fight him the whole time. That’d be nice, he thought. He pulled out the honey, grabbed a lemon from the basket on the counter, and proceeded to make a nice cup of tea for Danny. He went ahead and made one for himself, and maybe he added some whiskey to his.

He waited till the water had stopped before he headed upstairs with the tea. When he opened his bedroom door, he saw Danny sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel, looking pathetic. It was as though once he’d stopped fighting, he'd just collapsed into it, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Put some sweats on,” Steve said, pulling a pair out of his drawer along with a tee, and handing them to Danny. “Then, get in bed.”

Danny just looked up at Steve with seriously puppy dog eyes, like he wanted to say “No,” but he just closed his eyes and nodded.

While Danny went into the bathroom to change, Steve set his mug on one bedside table, Danny's on the other, and he climbed into bed, on top of the quilt, pulling the other side back for Danny. When Danny came out, he glared at Steve, and Steve just smiled. “Sit, drink. If you’re good, I’ll leave you alone.”

Danny made some weird gesture with his hands which Steve ignored, but he climbed in, under the covers with what looked like poorly disguised relief.

Steve took a sip from his tea and smiled at Danny. “See, this isn’t so bad, is it?”

Danny gave Steve a new version of the death glare, but picked up his tea and started sipping it. His mask slipped for a minute, because he actually sighed into the mug, and Steve bit his lip to keep from smirking. Danny drank about half the tea before he started looking like he was going to fall asleep sitting up, so Steve reached over and took it.

“Ok, Danno, just rest,” he said, he hoped soothingly, less than adoringly, which is how it felt.

Danny sighed, but curled up in a ball, facing away from Steve. Steve reached out and rubbed his back, just lightly, and Danny stretched into the caress, sighed again, and rasped out “Thanks.”

“Shhhh,” Steve replied, and turned to curl up against Danny, who scooted back against him further, grabbed his hand, and pulled it up under his chin. Steve’s heart melted a little bit and he pressed a kiss into Danny’s hair. “Sleep tight, Danno.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! Last week got completely taken over by S6E11 and the two stories I evidently *had* to write about it.... ;-) 
> 
> At any rate, I've got two chapters ready to post and another I'm working on. I hope you enjoy them!

 

Steve was trying not to panic, he really was. But Danny was late to work and he hadn’t called and he wasn’t answering his phone, and Danny liked to give Steve a hard time when he did that, but the truth was Danny _never_ did it, so Steve was kind of panicking.

Chin was trying to be reasonable. “I’m sure he had a thing with Rachel, and he’s on his way,” he tried.

Kono (and Steve was pretending to not know of the bet she and Chin had about he and Danny getting together) was pushing it a little more. “Boss, I think you should go check on him. He’s never this late, and he never doesn’t answer his phone. He’s like paranoid about that.”

Steve’s nerves were not being helped by this, thank you very much. He grabbed his keys and mumbled something about just being sure, and headed with some speed for the door.

He might have broken the speed limit a little on his way to Danny’s craphole of an apartment, but he had legitimate reasons for being concerned, as there were numerous factions on the island who would love to take down one of Five-0’s key players, so he was completely within the realm of reasonable precaution. Yep, he just kept telling himself that. It certainly wasn’t for some other reason. Like his personal feelings for his completely aggravating partner. Nope.

When he got to the apartment, he held himself back—with no small effort—from just breaking down the door straight away. He took a deep breath and knocked.

There was no response.

“Danny!” He tried to not sound too panicked, but he knew he was not succeeding. “Danny, it’s Steve. Come on, buddy, let me in!”

There was still no response, so, yeah. He kicked in the door. And yeah, ok, maybe that was over-reacting, but he was kinda past caring about that.

He had tried to not let himself think about what he might find, but his mind had maybe not been listening, so when he saw a Danny shaped bundle on the sofa, box of tissues all over the floor in front of him, cell phone sitting _right there_ , he might have sent up phrases of gratitude to several deities. Possibly curses as well. But relief was the main note.

“Jesus Christ, Steven,” Danny mumbled. “Did you just break my fucking door?”

Steve might have rolled his eyes, but he moved closer in concern. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked, trying to cover up his panicked concern with some anger or sass or _something_.

“I just… I don’t know.” Danny replied pathetically. “Everything hurts, and I can’t move.”

“Didn’t you hear me call? Is your phone even on?” Steve asked, and he was still freaked out and just trying to figure out what to do.

Danny responded with a pathetic sound and a vague gesture of apology.

“Ok,” Steve backed down. “Ok, buddy, it doesn’t matter.” He sighed and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “What are we going to do with you, huh?”

Danny sniffled.

“Have you taken anything?” Steve asked, feeling Danny’s head, which was maybe a bit clammy but not overly warm.

Danny shook his head, then winced.

“When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?” Steve asked.

Danny shrugged. Or, Steve thought he did.

“Ok,” Steve said, kindly, and patted Danny on the shoulder. “I’ll go make something.” And he went into the kitchen, half terrified of what he might find. He managed to scrounge up a not completely awful-looking instant noodle package and some chamomile tea, both of which he suspected Gracie had a hand in. He even found some herbal cold and flu tablets, which he was certain Danny had not known about. Making a note to text Gracie later to thank her, Steve assembled the items on a tray (another surprising find), and took them back to the living room.

Danny was whimpering pathetically, and Steve was pretty sure it was entirely for his benefit.

“Alright, tough guy,” Steve said fondly. “Can you sit up?”

Steve held out the pills and a glass of water. Danny groaned, but did manage to sit. He took the pills without even asking, swallowed them, and handed Steve back the glass. He perked up at the hot noodles, and sighed as Steve handed the mug to him. Steve slid up against Danny on the sofa, wrapping an arm around him, and letting Danny settle into place at his side. Danny slurped the hot soup, and cuddled against Steve.

“Thanks, babe,” he sighed contentedly.

“You’re welcome, buddy,” he smiled, putting his feet up on the coffee table, and turning on the TV.

His phone beeped, and he saw a message from Kono. He texted her back that Danny was a big baby but he was ok, and he’d be at Danny’s place if anyone needed him, and could Chin maybe come and fix Danny’s door? Kono texted back a winky face and he was fairly sure that had something to do with her stupid bet with her cousin, but he just didn’t care.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny’s sick, but the team need him in the office. They do their best to make sure he’s ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry it's been a while! Writing & posting has revolved around those three newest episodes. 
> 
> And, I had a chapter 5 but I just wasn't happy with it the longer it sat, and chapter 6 was too far "forward" without a chapter 5 before it (yes, I know I'm not doing a single timeline, but it didn't feel right)....
> 
> Anyhow, here's a little something sweet. :-)

Steve had said he felt awful about making Danny come to work. But they were working a tough case that required someone be in the office, and they needed the rest of them in the field, so.... Danny was set up, as best Steve could, in the main room, with a comfy chair from Steve’s office, a blanket from Steve’s house, and a table Steve had pulled out from storage, which was laid out with all sorts of things Danny might need: several boxes of tissues, three thermoses (one of hot tea, one of soup, and one of something Steve had said was “for emergencies only” which Danny rather suspected was a hot toddy, but he hadn’t checked), a bowl of cough drops (two different flavors—cherry and lemon), a box of herbal cold tablets, a bottle of honey, and an actual lemon—sliced in perfect, probably regulation sections. Steve had provided handwritten instructions about how often to take the tablets, as well as admonitions to drink lots of the tea, and who to call from reception if he needed someone to get him more hot water. He'd also left a tub of wipes which had a note about not sneezing on the computer, and being sure to wipe his hands before touching it. And Steve had also made sure Danny’s phone was charged and the ringer turned all the way up. He’d muttered something about Danny not being great at answering his phone while he was sick. Danny had no idea what he meant. Well. Maybe a little idea.

Danny did drift off several times. He blamed the lack of coffee—Steve had strictly forbidden it, saying it was bad for him when he was sick. But he was able to help the team when they needed it, even if he felt a bit bleary-headed. He fell into a sort of pattern of helping the team, drinking tea, taking a cold pill, having some soup, drifting off, waking up either from coughing or from a phone call, and repeating the cycle again. He completely lost track of time, he didn’t even try to keep up. Steve had closed the blinds because Danny had winced at the bright light when Steve had dragged Danny from under his covers to come to the office to help them out. So, he had no sense of the passage of time.

Kamekona showed up once with more soup and a few of Danny’s favorite garlic shrimp.

Kono came back by the office twice to collect more gear, and she checked, each time, on his supply levels. Danny suspected she was reporting back to Steve, but Steve had over-provided, and Danny wasn’t in danger of running out of anything but patience. Chin came by once, with coco puffs, and Danny threatened to kiss him if he’d get him coffee, but he looked frightened and said he valued his life more than that. Danny swore silently at Steve and vowed he’d have his revenge the next time Steve was hurt.

Once when Danny woke up, having fallen asleep in the chair after the latest round of assisting the team, he found himself covered with the blanket and his feet resting on a footstool that had appeared out of nowhere. He thought he caught a whiff of Steve in the air, and he smiled fondly.

The cycle repeated itself a few more times, Danny wasn’t entirely sure how many, and then there were explosions and a lot of yelling, and then: “Kono, book ‘em for Danno, will ya?” “My pleasure boss.” Then the line went silent, and Danny fell back asleep.

He woke up to Steve’s voice in his ear and a warm hand on his head. “Hey, buddy. Let’s get you home to bed.”

Danny nodded blearily and stood unsteadily, and Steve, smelling still of explosives, helped him to the truck. He fell asleep on the way, so he didn’t have a chance to protest that when Steve said “home,” he meant his, not Danny’s. But Danny was past being able to do much about it anyway, and he simply followed where Steve led him, and sighed as he was engulfed by soft sheets and the scent of Steve. He drifted off, stirring only briefly when a damp Steve slid into bed next to him and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering “Thanks, Danno,” and pulling Danny to him on a sigh. Danny smiled and fell back asleep thinking he’d had much worse days at work, all things considered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...The usual platitudes about my being distracted by my post-episode stories... I'm rather afraid that's going to be a bit of a thing for a while, so this posting chapters here is probably going to stay every-other-week for a bit longer. I've two chapters for this one this week, one today, one Friday. :-) (And one in "By Your Side" on Wednesday. Such is the plan, at any rate.)

Danny sat in what he’d come to think of as “his” chair, down by the water, at the edge of Steve’s property. He was wrapped snugly in a fuzzy pink blanket, and in his hands he cradled a mug of what was by this point only vaguely warm coffee (with milk, not butter, thank you very much). It wasn’t that the morning was especially chilly, that would have just been odd. But Danny’d been rather ill, and he was inclined to feel toasty not drafty, and there was a bit of a breeze stirring.

He wasn’t sure when he’d come to naturally stay at Steve’s while he was sick, but he did think that it had been Steve’s doing. If left to his own devices, Danny tended to fall into a pit of despair and ignore the world until he was miraculously well. Steve, on the other hand, and completely unsurprisingly, preferred to attack all forms of illness as though they were likely to try to blow up the island. He had an arsenal of approaches he used on himself, and as he’d worked out Danny’s typical approach was to do nothing, he had at some point begun to adopt Danny anytime he was sick, and attacked his germs with the same ferocity with which he attacked his own. Not that Danny was complaining, mind. It certainly had its advantages, not the least of which was an extended dose of attention from the intense focus that is the mind of Steve McGarrett. Which, uh, maybe Danny kind of enjoyed.

All of which is simply a long winded explanation as to how it came to be that Danny was sitting, pink and fuzzy (the blanket was Mary’s, and was the softest in the house, a fact which had been determined only after a prolonged study of all the McGarrett blanket offerings during one particularly fussy and overly-sensitive—Steve’s words of course—bout of flu), in “his” chair, drinking coffee, while Steve had his morning swim.

Danny, it turned out, rather enjoyed sitting on the beach in the morning, watching Steve swim. He’d joked, at one point, about doing it to make sure Steve didn’t get eaten by sharks (“After all, babe, sharks eat seals.” “You learn that from Gracie?” “Yep.”). But the truth was, he liked the time to sit and think. Time by himself was not something Danny Williams got all that much of, which, considering he lived by himself, only saw his daughter Wednesdays and occasional weekends, and had very little in the way of a “social” life, was frankly surprising. But none of that took into account that his partner was a Navy man. And, yes, Steve had extensive training in things like being marooned, alone, on deserted islands, for years at a time. But he was a Navy man, and more than that, he was a Navy man who had had very little in the way of family life. Which translated to: Steve did not do alone very well. For someone as stoic as Steve, to turn into something of a needy child if left alone for more than a few hours at a time, well. It had taken Danny some getting used to.

Which possibly explains why Danny hadn’t fought Steve too much over the whole “you’re sick, come to my house and I’ll take care of you, no really please let me do this” thing. It made Steve feel useful, and Danny had found that Steve really liked to feel he was doing things to protect and care for his _ohana_ , and it had the added benefit of making Danny feel relaxed enough to have a moment like this to sit and think and just be, without guns blazing, sirens wailing, or Ninja SEALs leaping off tall structures.

At any rate, it had become something of a thing, to the point that this particular time, Danny had shown up on Steve’s doorstep on a Sunday afternoon, saying he didn’t feel so good and could he come in. The smile that had lit up Steve’s face was rather out of place in the context of Danny’s being ill, but it made Danny tingle just a little all the same.

Steve had been more than willing to pamper a mopey and miserable Danny, even managing to work from home the next day so he could be close if Danny needed tea or soup or more tissues or a bath drawn for him. Chin had, Danny was fairly sure, given Steve a very hard time about it, when he had called to walk him through getting into the Five-0 server remotely. He based this mainly on the non-committal grunts and oddly placed blushes which were all Danny had been able to observe from his perch in the living room’s easy chair.

Kono had stopped by with a delivery of garlic shrimp (“extra garlic”) from Kamekona, and she’d stayed only long enough to tease him for the fluffy pink blanket, but he had the odd sense that she’d determined something by her visit, and it was sitting uneasily with him.

Half way through the day, Danny had grown impatient with Steve “working,” and he’d made a nuisance of himself until Steve had given up and come to the living room to sit and watch a movie with him while they ate the shrimp. Danny tried to talk Steve into letting him have a beer, but he’d brought him some weird fizzy thing instead, which Danny had reluctantly consumed, looking expectantly for a reward when he finished. Steve had smiled fondly, and made him tea. Danny had groaned. That had not been the reward he’d had in mind.

Danny had somehow wound up in Steve’s bed that night, something about being cold, closer to a bathroom, or so he didn’t have to text Steve if he needed something, having been the excuse that finally won out. In other words, purely practical. Not soft or sentimental or overly fond, or anything at all like that.

And now it was Tuesday morning, and Steve had gotten up to swim, and Danny rather suspected he’d head into the office later, and maybe Danny was regretting that just a little. So he was making the most of his time and the fuzzy blanket.

Steve ambled up the sand to grab his towel from the other chair, and he was smiling hugely at Danny.

“You look better,” he said as he dried off.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny replied. “You gonna head in?”

“Yeah, I’d better,” Steve said, sitting down to check Danny’s forehead to see how warm it still was. “I think you’re over the worst of it, you gonna be ok here by yourself today?” He was smirking, just a little, and Danny blushed.

“I think I’ll manage. Chin sent me some files I need to finish, so I can do that from the dining room.”

“Sounds good, buddy,” Steve said, standing up to go shower. “I’ll try and get out early and come home and make you a nice dinner,” he said, and he ruffled Danny’s hair on his way back up to the house.

Danny smiled into his coffee and maybe found himself wishing he’d be sick for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the sharks eat seals line is from a deleted scene from S3E3. It's a sweet scene, and if you haven't seen it, you should look it up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s not altogether sure that Danny really is sick, but he’s certainly acting as though something is wrong.

Steve had been out surfing all morning, and when he came home, it was to find the Camaro in its usual spot. He smiled and went inside to see what Danny was up to. They’d long ago exchanged keys to each other’s places, something about it being better than breaking down doors or something, and Danny had developed the habit—quite readily, to Steve’s amusement and delight—of just showing up and making himself at home.

The first thing Steve noticed was that he didn’t hear the TV. The second thing he checked for was the smell of something burning, but no, Danny wasn’t attempting to cook. He peeked out the back to see if maybe he was sitting down by the beach with beers, but no. Which, Steve realized, meant that Danny was sick. Sighing, because he’d been hoping for a fun afternoon, but also because he hated when Danny was sick (ok, that’s not strictly true, he enjoyed—rather a lot, if he was honest—taking care of Danny, which so far he was only allowed to do when Danny was ill).

Sure enough, he was upstairs, _in Steve’s bed_ , the covers pulled all the way up, peeking pitifully out from under them.

“Hi, Danno,” he called cheerfully.

“Where have you been? I’ve been miserable,” Danny whimpered, clearly emphasizing the fact that he was, indeed, miserable.

“You could have called me,” Steve responded reasonably.

“Oh, answer your phone while you’re surfing, do you?” Steve was impressed with the level of snark coming from one supposedly ill. But, this was Danny, so he supposed he shouldn’t be shocked.

“Uh, actually, yeah, I do, Danno,” Steve replied briskly.

“Of course you do,” Danny conceded.

“I’m gonna shower, ok? Then I can make you something,” and Steve fell so easily into Take-Care-of-Danny mode, he really should be worried about that.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny replied, and was it Steve or was there something oddly… _satisfied_ about his tone? He shook his head bemusedly and headed for the shower.

When he came out, he saw that Danny had fallen asleep, so maybe he was being a bit hard on him, and he really was unwell. He risked a feel to Danny’s forehead, but it didn’t seem especially warm to him. Shrugging, he pulled on some sweats and headed down to make some tea and soup for his patient.

Fixing himself a sandwich, he stood at the kitchen island eating it while he heated Danny’s favorite soup and boiled water for some tea. He tried to run through the past week to see if there had been anything in a case that might have brought up some more… emotional… issues for his partner, that might have led him to essentially mope once the weekend hit, but he couldn’t think of any. It had been a reasonably calm week. There hadn’t even been any shooting, and Steve hadn’t gotten hurt. Danny, come to think of it, hadn’t even had any cause to lecture Steve about procedure or his driving. In fact, they’d all spent rather a lot of most of the week in their offices somewhat slavishly catching up with what always seemed to be the insurmountable stack of paperwork their activities produced.

As he dished up the soup and poured the tea, he switched to wondering if maybe something was going on at home. It was a non-Gracie weekend, he knew that, and he thought maybe he’d overheard Danny talking to Rachel once or twice during the week, but it hadn’t seemed especially awful (by which he meant Danny hadn’t thrown his phone, or come to mope on Steve’s sofa after, or begged Chin to go get coco puffs). Wednesday evening with Gracie had gone well besides, Steve knew, because they’d made cupcakes, and Danny had brought some in for the team on Thursday, and he’d been glowing about what a lovely time they’d had (which had been a relief to Steve, because the number of times those Father-Daughter evenings had not gone very well lately had been increasing as Grace’s social calendar had been increasingly filled with things other than Danno).

So, not work, and not family, and, Steve was fairly sure, _not_ actually ill. So, what was wrong with Danny? He sighed, shaking his head slightly, and took the tray upstairs.

Danny was still asleep, so Steve set the tray on the dresser, and sat down in the chair by the bed and watched Danny sleep. It was something he’d done a lot of over the past few years, and he’d secretly come to think of it as his favorite hobby. While Danny was awake, he was bouncy, vibrant, often fiery, and hard for Steve to tack down. He flew from one topic to the next, his mood and energy flared and ebbed dramatically with seemingly little external influence. The buzz and hum of Danny’s energy, while sometimes challenging for Steve to process, kept Steve—not exactly “grounded,” more like _lifted_. It kept him from sinking too far into Super Serious SEAL mode, something he realized he did too readily when Danny was not around. But sometimes, that energy frazzled Steve. Sometimes he had a heck of a time processing it, and it just ran, like a live wire, across his skin, and it just fried his nerves, and sometimes he’d just _snap_. So, it was relaxing for Steve to get to sit by Danny like this, drawing off the positive effects his presence had on Steve’s mind, while not being in danger of the potential negatives.

Danny stirred, almost as though he had heard the thought and wanted to torment Steve by taking that moment away. “Hey, babe,” he said, sleepily. “How long you been sitting there?”

Steve smiled, and rose to get the tray. “Not long,” he replied. He handed Danny the tray, and sat on the bed next to him.

Danny looked down at the tray, then back up at Steve. “I don’t deserve you,” he sighed. “I really don’t.”

“Hey, Danno,” Steve scolded. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned, not liking the look or the tone Danny was using.

Danny sat back with a huff that sounded almost like a sob. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want the soup?” Steve asked, gently.

“Not really,” Danny admitted.

“Would you like a hug?”

Danny let out a breath that was almost a laugh except it was almost painfully sad.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve replied, and took the tray, setting it back on the dresser, and sitting back down, next to Danny, and pulling him forcefully into a hug. Danny fought it at first, but then gave in, slack and boneless, collapsing against Steve’s chest. Steve just held him for a while, letting him take whatever comfort he might, and taking his own, just from the contact, which, now he thought about it, there hadn’t been much of that week. Typically, they wound up with a certain amount of physical contact during a week, from body communication during ops, to their flirty banter after hours as they drank the tough cases out of their minds. But this week there’d been none of that, and none of the touching that they indulged in when either was sick or injured, and maybe, the light bulb in Steve’s head suggested, that was exactly it. Their “fighting” and their injuries got them physical contact. So, maybe a week with none of either, while seeming on the surface to be a good thing, was actually really dangerous. After a while, Steve pulled back to try and look at Danny. “Better?” He asked.

Danny nodded, wordlessly.

“Danny, why don’t you stay the rest of the weekend,” Steve suggested. “We can get pizza and watch movies, whatever you like.” And maybe he was partly thinking that a good long time on the sofa watching movies, given they did tend to rather snuggle up against each other when they did that, was just what Danny needed, and, yeah, maybe he needed it too.

Danny looked up at Steve like he’d just offered to drive the speed limit and never jump in without back up. “Yeah, babe?” He whispered.

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah, buddy. I’d really like that.”

Danny sighed and turned back against Steve’s chest. “Ok. Yeah. Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It might be a couple weeks before I post another of these or of "By Your Side," but do not fret! I am not planning on stopping, I've just run out of chapters that are already written, and I'm focusing on part three of "Doom and Gloom" right now, which I hope to post next week...... and I'm rather supposing I'll be driven by episode 14 to write a post-ep on that--but please, no spoilers in the comments, as I'm not sure when I'll get to watch it.....)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, a new chapter, and a lot sooner than I'd imagined.... I’d been trying and failing to write a “By Your Side” or “Best Medicine” for a while now, but “Doom and Gloom” has pretty much taken my whole head over.... Then this crept out, slowly, tentatively.... Episode 15 kind of destroyed my feelings, so I guess that’s where it came from.
> 
> (And just a little note for those following D&G, I'm behind my ideal posting schedule for that one, as it has completely wrecked my feelings, ahem, so maybe next week, Monday or Tuesday for chapter one of part four, rather than this weekend, sorry, but, uh, it'll be worth it.... I hope!)

It was still dark out when Steve woke up. He sat up, and listened intently to the silence in the house. Nothing. Not a sound. Which, considering there was a sick Danny on his sofa, had him a tiny bit worried. So, he got softly out of bed and padded silently on Ninja feet down the stairs and into the living room. The sofa was empty, the TV was off. He went into the study to see if Danny was maybe sitting outside, and sure enough, Danny was sitting out on the lanai, steaming mug of something in front of him. Steve crept back into the kitchen and made himself a mug of tea with the still hot water, then went back out and pushed the door open quietly.

“Hey, Danno,” he said softly.

Danny turned to him and smiled. “Hey, babe, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Naw,” Steve said dismissively, as he sat. “You feeling ok?”

“Yeah, babe, I feel a lot better, thanks.” And he reached out and patted Steve on the arm. “I just couldn’t sleep, is all.”

Steve took a sip of his tea. “Bad dreams?” He asked softly, and he wasn’t sure why he suspected this, but it had been a while now he'd been feeling that Danny had been having nightmares.

Danny turned and looked suspiciously at Steve. “You said I didn’t wake you...” he started.

Steve shook his head. “You didn’t, buddy. I was just wondering.”

“Why?” Danny demanded, rather intently.

“Hey, buddy, easy. No reason, I don’t know... just a feeling I had?” And now Steve really was worried.

Danny sighed and sat back resignedly. “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’ve been having nightmares. About Matty.”

Steve wanted so badly to hug Danny, “Oh, man,” he huffed out. “I’m so sorry.”

Danny looked over at Steve, and evidently just admitting that had been enough to get the tears to start falling, because his cheeks were glistening. Steve scooted his chair next to Danny’s and wrapped an arm protectively around him, hating, for the umpteenth time, that he hadn’t been able to do more, hadn’t been able to save Matt.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny whispered through his tears, and Steve pulled him closer.

Steve took a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it, Danny?” And he felt Danny laugh remorsefully, deep in his chest, the reverberation vibrating in his own body.

“Naw, babe,” Danny sighed, sitting back. “It’ll fade with the day light, it’s fine,” and he wiped his tears away and tried to smile, but ended in a yawn.

“You should try and sleep more,” Steve said, feeling bereft without Danny’s warmth against him. “You might feel better, but it’s been a couple days you’ve not slept well, while you’ve been sick,” he said.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, I know. Kind of don’t want to go back to sleep, though, you know?”

Steve took a deep breath. “Come upstairs with me, then,” he offered. And, he felt a little bit nervous, but he was more concerned with Danny getting sleep because he was already more than a little run down. Not that Steve didn’t like having Danny over when he was sick, but he’d rather have him healthy, and not sleeping was _not_ going to help.

A soft grin spread slowly across Danny’s face. “I don’t want to keep you up, babe,” he whispered.

“Danny, I’m not going to be able to sleep if I know you’re down here awake,” Steve replied, reasonably, he hoped.

Danny turned bright eyes on him that were sad and sleepy and tormented. He nodded slightly, and they both got up, leaving their mugs on the table.

“Good,” Steve said, slapping an arm around Danny’s shoulders and drawing him into a hug. “That’s better,” he whispered against Danny’s head, and Danny shivered a little, and Steve rubbed a hand up and down his arm.

When they got upstairs, Danny collapsed easily on “his” side of the bed, but turned towards the wall. Steve climbed in next to Danny and pulled him over to face him. “Please wake me if you do have another nightmare, ok?” He said, looking into Danny’s eyes, pleading with him. Danny nodded slightly back, and Steve smiled. “Ok, good. Now, try to sleep, ok?” And he wrapped Danny up in his arms, and when he felt the resistance ease, he smirked just a little, sighed, and let himself drift off to sleep.

He woke a couple times, maybe when Danny stirred, but it seemed like Danny was sleeping ok, and each time, Steve fell back asleep easily. When he awoke to daylight, he saw Danny was looking at him, blue eyes far less tormented than they’d been in the night, if still not as light and sparkly as Steve would like to see them. “Sleep ok, buddy?” He asked.

Danny smiled. “Yeah, babe. Much better, thanks.” And he seemed to hesitate, as though he were deciding if he dared ask something.

“What is it, Danno?” Steve prompted, hoping Danny would feel comfortable enough with him to ask anything.

“Would it be ok if I slept here again tonight?” He asked, so softly, so tentatively.

Steve tried to hold back the smirk, he really did, but there was just no way to hide the pleasure he felt at that. “Yeah, buddy, of course,” he said. “Any time. You know that.”

Danny smiled, but then bit his lip. “I mean...” and he took a deep breath. “ _Here_.”

And the smirk broke through. “Yeah, Danno. Absolutely,” and there was the sparkle he’d been missing in those beautiful blue eyes, and yeah, he decided, that was a really good sign.


	9. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's not sick, but Steve thinks Danny needs a break from all the crap in his life, so he takes him out for a nice evening on the town. Yes, he pays. No, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been almost a month since I posted a chapter!
> 
> For stevedannolover100781, RacoonSA, StBridget, as well as everyone who has been missing TBM. The idea for this one came from a conversation with carlyhope... she wanted some Danny pampering. It's not *quite* what she asked for, but I hope it satisfies! It sure was fun to write. :-)

Danny was having a really bad day. Like, yelling into his cell phone in the middle of the office bad. All Steve had been able to make out, and this was partly because Danny’s voice kept rising and falling as he paced frantically about the office (while Steve as well as Chin and Kono stayed wisely tucked away in their respective offices, texting each other when they needed something instead of daring to walk next door and risk contact with the wrath that was Danny-exceptionally-peeved-with-Rachel). At any rate, Steve only had a vague notion of what the issue was. But he was able to figure it out that the end result was that Danny was not getting to see Grace tomorrow, which was Wednesday.

Steve sighed rather dramatically (and then realized he’d clearly been spending too much time with his overly emotional partner), and muttered curses under his breath in the general direction of Grace’s mom. He wished he could do something to make up for it. And not just because Danny was quite simply impossible to be around when he was this upset with Rachel. But, it physically hurt Steve’s heart to see Danny hurting this much, and he was under no illusions that it wasn’t _hurt_ that was making Danny so angry.

When Danny finally hung up the phone, and Steve was impressed that he didn’t throw it at the wall, Danny burst into Steve’s office, but deflated instantly at the expression on Steve’s face.

He let out the biggest, most dramatic sigh (Steve had nothing on him when it came to dramatic sighs), and flomped down on Steve’s sofa.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Steve said, getting up and opening his fridge to grab two beers. It was four thirty after all.

Danny laughed, but took the beer, something he usually would have been more strict about. “Thanks, babe,” he said, and they clinked the bottles.

“So, wanna tell me about it?” Steve asked, knowing he was going to be in for an epic rant if Danny accepted. He steeled his nerves for the onslaught.

Danny took a deep breath, and looked like he was about to start, but then looked at Steve and stopped.

He smiled, almost a smirk (and that was probably due to having been spending so much time with Steve), and then let the breath out. “Yeah, I think you heard enough, babe,” and he sat back in the sofa, and took a big gulp of his beer.

“So, no Gracie tomorrow night, Danno?”

“Nope,” replied Danny, with a nice resonant pop on the “p”.

Steve looked across at him through raised eyebrows. “Wanna go out with me instead?” He offered tentatively. “My treat,” he added with a smile.

Danny huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right,” and he rolled his eyes.

Steve tried not to be too hurt by that. He had a bit of a reputation, he knew. “I’m serious, Danny. You need some pampering. RumFire, cocktails, wings, whatever you like. Just you and me. You deserve it.”

Danny looked sideways at him, as if trying to determine if he was really serious. “Ok,” he replied slowly. “But you have to dress nicely... no cargos. No tee shirt. Dress pants, and one of those nice crisp button down shirts.” He paused, and then added: “And real shoes.”

Steve smirked. “Ok, buddy, whatever you say.” And he drained the rest of his beer, feeling really probably too pleased with himself. He’d at least distracted Danny from his anger and hurt, and yeah, maybe he’d had to shock him out of it, but it was so worth it. Just like the exorbitant bill would be worth every penny if it got a real smile on Danny’s face.

That night, Steve went through his clothes, trying to pick out what to wear for his, huh, “date” was what he’d just called it in his head. Wasn’t that interesting.... At any rate, he dismissed half his shirts in one glance, then found a navy blue dress shirt in the back, crisp with lack of use. He knew Danny liked it when he wore dark on dark, so he pulled out a pair of navy slacks and thought that would do quite nicely. He even dusted off (he drew the line at polishing, thank you) his black loafers, and found a pair of black dress socks. He knew he was smirking far too hugely, but he was unaccountably excited. He’d pulled in a favor from the hostess and reserved a quiet table in the back of the bar, away from the windows, so there would be no view of the ocean, no sound of the waves, and maybe, just maybe for one evening, Danny could forget all the things that drove him crazy and just have a nice night on the town. Well. With Steve. Not with hooking up or anything, and hopefully not even any flirting. Steve hated it when Danny tried to flirt with women when they were out together. They needed some good time together, away from work, away from everything that had been so hard for so long. Yeah. It was going to be good.

The next morning, when Steve saw the clothes Danny’d hung in his office he grinned and bit his lip. Black slacks and a white button down, no tie. Sending secret wishes to the island gods of sexy dressing, Steve hoped Danny would go all Jersey and wear the collar up. He teased him when he did that, but he’d admit, he secretly loved it.  

Steve had bribed Kono to get Chin out of the office early, so she’d made up some house repair thing she needed him to help with. Steve silently hoped she hadn’t actually broken something important, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Shortly before five, the cousins left, so Steve and Danny could get ready in peace. When Danny walked out of his office, slickly dressed and looking for all the world like he was not in Hawaii, Steve permitted himself a wolf whistle and was gratified when Danny actually blushed. He smirked back and dropped the keys to the Camaro into Danny’s hands.

“Shall we?”

Danny shook his head in disbelief, looked down at the keys, then back up at Steve. “Alright, babe, as you wish.”

Steve scolded Danny when he started looking for parking. “Just valet it, buddy.”

Danny’s mouth fell open as he turned to Steve. “Who are you and what have you done with Steve McGarrett?”

By the time they walked into the bar, Danny had a decided spring to his step, and Steve was feeling very glad they had a somewhat sequestered table away from the sights of the frankly predatory women who sometimes lurked by the bar.

“What’s your fancy, Detective?” Steve asked. “Something non-tropical? Blueberry mojito, perhaps?”

Danny looked at Steve as if he had just said they should wait for back up. “Sure, babe, sounds nice,” and he pressed his lips together, shaking his head just slightly.

Steve pretended to study the menu while Danny sat watching him, but it was really distracting. “What do you think, buddy? Two each of the wings and pork pancakes?”

Danny’s eyes never left Steve, he was sure. “How about the Thai tacos as well?” He suggested, and Steve thought maybe he was testing him, but he wasn’t going to flinch. He set the menu down and looked up at Danny.

“Sounds perfect.”

They toasted with their blueberry mojitos (which fortunately came in their own carafe, so they could refill when they wanted), and Steve took a bigger gulp than was probably wise, but he was feeling unexpectedly nervous. Probably had something to do with the way Danny was focused completely on him. Usually, when they went out like this, Danny’s eyes roved all around the place, seeing and commenting on every attractive female (and male as well, if he was feeling feisty) who walked into the room. He made Steve, who tended to focus on Danny instead, dizzy. But, for some reason, tonight, Danny was all focused on Steve. He had absolutely no idea what to make of it.  

Drawing on his SEAL training, Steve pulled himself out of his nerves and got Danny talking about Jersey. His favorite places to go out, specifically. It evidently was the right conversation topic, as soon Danny was animated, gesturing, telling stories of past exploits, and even, to Steve’s near embarrassment (and utter delight) suggesting places he needed to take Steve “when you come visit finally.”

By the time the waiter came to ask if they wanted dessert, Danny was well and truly in Jersey mode, which came out in his accent when he ordered the red velvet cake. Steve thought he was going to pass out from the overwhelming sensations of Danny in full-on mode and the blood-red cake. But it was all worth the smile on Danny’s face when they finally got up to leave.

“This was great, babe, we should do it more often,” he said as they walked outside. “Hmmm, better go for a bit of a walk first,” he mumbled, as he bumped into Steve just a little. Steve knew they’d each only had two drinks which were strong but not that strong, and Danny had had a _lot_ of food not to mention sugar. He suspected half Danny’s problem at this point was lack of oxygen, as he’d been talking so much. He smiled fondly and wrapped an arm around Danny as he led him along the sidewalk.

“Ok, buddy, whatever you like.”

They walked for a while.

“See, this is nice, Steven,” Danny said. “Walking on sidewalks. Very civilized.”

Steve shook his head a little and smirked.

They walked past a Starbucks and Danny grinned. “Frappuccino?” He asked Steve with a grin.

Holding back the shudder he felt at the mere thought of the amount of sugar Danny had already consumed, Steve bit back his tart remark and smiled. “Sure, Danny,” he said instead, and followed him inside, paying for the stupidly expensive drink without complaint. He was kind of thinking Danny was testing him more than anything, but he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Danny’s ability to put away that much food and drink was impressive. They continued strolling the busy (too busy for Steve’s comfort, even on a Wednesday night) sidewalks. Steve would have preferred the beach of course, but Danny was so happy it was kind of terrifying. Steve decided that the hassle was more than worth it, to see Danny so contented. He needed to remember it. Danny deserved at least that much.

Finally, even with all the sugar and caffeine coursing through his veins, Danny started to yawn, and Steve steered him back towards the hotel. Danny started to go the passenger side when the valet brought the Camaro around. The way his face lit up when he remembered he was driving was worth ten frappuccinos as far as Steve was concerned.

Since they’d left Steve’s truck at the office, that was where they went. Danny got out of the Camaro and walked Steve to his truck.

“Thanks, again, babe,” he said softly, when they were standing next to the truck. “This was really nice. Just what I needed.” And he sounded breathy and... seductive, almost. Steve blinked. Danny leaned in, and Steve held his breath. And Danny was pressing up against him, kissing him so softly, and Steve felt like he was going to melt. When Danny pulled back, a huge smile on his face (there! That’s the smile Steve had been hoping for! Only... wow, he hadn’t figured on the kiss that came with it...), Steve felt like he must have had the oddest expression on his face.

He tilted his head slightly. “Danny, that’s not why I did this....”

Danny smiled even more hugely, and Steve felt his knees almost give way beneath him. “I know, babe. That’s what makes it even better.” And he leaned forward again, kissed him, more quickly this time, then turned and walked back to the Camaro.

Steve couldn’t help it, he whistled again, and Danny turned around and winked.

Date night needed to become a regular thing, Steve decided. It was very much worth it.


	10. A Walk on the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's not sick, but Steve still manages to find the best way to make him feel better......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I dug this up from my Folder of Neglected Fic.... I’d originally wanted it to be two chapters, the other from Danny’s POV, but that one just never worked, and then I got swept away by “Doom and Gloom” and it got abandoned. It’s a little rough to my ears, after the more thoughtful and slower paced D&G I’ve been living for the past couple of months, but it’s still sweet, it works nicely as a TBM, and it's a little something to post while I’m otherwise “taking a break,” so I hope you enjoy it. :-)

The first time Steve and Danny went for a walk on the beach was kind of by accident. Danny’d been—in Steve’s words—crabby, all day, and at the end of the day, Steve just couldn’t bear to let Danny go home alone. So he’d suggested beers on the beach, but that hadn’t worked too well, as Danny had been... fidgety. So, they’d wound up going for, what was to Steve’s mind at least, a rather lovely stroll on the beach. By the time Steve took Danny home, he’d been almost—and Steve felt a bit hesitant to admit this, but he thought it was true at least a little— _fond_.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny had said softly, when Steve walked him to his door. (Yeah, he did that sometimes. He blamed his military training, though really, he just liked to linger as long as possible around Danny.)

“Sure thing,” Steve had replied, trying for friendly and light. And then, Danny had pulled Steve into a hug... and kissed him on the cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” Danny had whispered, and ducked inside, closing the door on a shocked Steve who’d stood there with his mouth hanging open for at least three minutes.

Steve managed to shake it off somewhat eventually, but it stayed with him, and he might have started looking for opportunities to go for another walk on the beach. You know, just for scientific purposes, because, let’s be honest, if all it took to cure Danny of a bad mood was a walk on the beach, well, this was very valuable information that could be put to some seriously good use.

It took him awhile, but he did manage to take Danny for another walk on the beach. Danny had been grousing at him all day about procedure and speed limits and laws of physics and civilized behavior, and Steve had taken each complaint with excitement—which actually might have exasperated Danny further, because by the end of the day Danny had seemed like he was about to explode.

“Let’s go for some garlic shrimp,” Steve said, literally interrupting Danny’s final tirade of the day.

“What?” He stammered, stunned into silence.

“It’s been a long day, I’m hungry, you’re clearly in need of food, let’s go get some.” Steve said, in a rush, in case Danny’s momentary silence didn’t last long.

Danny sighed. “Yeah, ok,” he replied, deflated.

Steve hid back his grin, but he might have bounced a little bit on the way out of the office.

After eating, as Steve had suspected, Danny started looking like he was liable to pick up where he’d left off, so Steve, as subtly as he could, got Danny up, and moved towards the beach, taking his shoes off, but letting Danny continue his list of complaints. Danny took his shoes off, too, without stopping his rant, and they’d walked for a while, Danny still grousing.

Steve was a bit perplexed. He had tuned Danny out by now, and was splashing along in the water, trying to figure out what was different this time, when he remembered that last time it had been Danny who had been walking next to the water, so he switched places, and oh-so-subtly pushed Danny towards the water.

Sure enough, after just a few minutes of his feet being splashed by the waves, Danny’s litany of criticisms faded off, and after a bit he seemed oddly at peace. They walked for a while longer, and wound up sitting at a bar, having a drink, and a really nice evening.

Danny’s good mood even carried over to the next day, and Steve found he could skip minor procedural points and drive a little bit too fast, and maybe jump a bit too soon, and Danny neglected to comment, just smiled fondly and rolled his eyes. Steve was going to have to figure out a way to make walks on the beach a regular part of Danny’s week. He wondered how frequent the walks would need to be, and if they would work preventatively? Or if they needed to be once Danny was already in a sour mood. Clearly, Steve’s work was cut out for him.

A few days later, after Steve’s leap-without-looking tendencies had gotten Danny shot in the arm, Steve sat in the ER waiting room, while Danny was being bandaged up, thinking of how he was going to get Danny to the beach.

Danny walked out of the ER, and looked daggers at Steve, who ducked his head and apologized for the sixteenth time. “Just, shut up,” Danny growled. “Shut up and take me home and feed me.” Steve might have smirked a little that Danny was seeming to imply “your house” when he said “home.”

“Ok, buddy. Steaks on the grill alright?”

“Yeah, red meat to replenish all the blood you lost me today....” But it didn’t sound as pissy as Steve thought Danny’d probably meant it to.

Steve drove the speed limit all the way to his house.

Danny poured them both really big servings of red wine in plastic cups (“Good for replenishing major blood loss,” he explained, bitterly), while Steve grabbed steaks from the fridge and they headed out to the beach.

While Steve heated up the grill, Danny paced back and forth agitatedly, listing off the fourteen things Steve had done wrong and how he was going to never forgive him, and Steve thought Danny was surely the only person in the world who could pace angrily in the sand. But by the time Steve put the steaks on, he’d paced himself ever closer to the water, and then into the water. Once his feet were wet, his tirade petered out, and he stood, watching Steve at the grill. He sighed heavily, then went to sit in the chair Steve had pulled over for him.

They ate in relative silence, finished their wine, and then nibbled on the chocolate Steve had brought out—claiming it too was good for healing blood loss.

“Danno, I really am sorry,” Steve said, for the twentieth time, and maybe it was the steak replenishing Danny’s blood, or maybe it was the wine or the chocolate, or maybe the water, but Danny smiled surprisingly fondly.

“I know, babe,” he said softly, and leaned forward, and kissed Steve. On. The. Lips. Just a light touch, barely there, feather soft. But  _on the lips_ , and Steve was certain his cheeks flushed. “Alright, I’m done for. I’m crashing on your couch,” Danny said, jumping up with surprising alacrity, leaving Steve to tidy up. Once he recovered from the kiss, that is, which frankly took a while. By the time he got inside, Steve saw that Danny had helped himself to a pair of Steve’s sweats, leaving his chest bare—neither of which helped Steve’s blood flow issues—and was snuggling into the sofa with a pillow Steve was fairly sure was from his own bed, and a blanket from the closet. Steve carried the dishes to the kitchen, where it was all he could do to run some water over them and leave them sitting in the sink.

“’Night, Danno,” Steve said softly as he headed up stairs.

“Sleep tight, babe,” came the bleary reply.

Sure enough, when Steve made it to his room, he saw his pillow was missing. He shook his head bemusedly. It was a long time before he managed to drift off to a restless slumber.

Fortunately there were no other major blood loss issues in the next week, and Danny’s arm healed quickly. But then there was some big blow up with Rachel about taking Grace to England for a month over the coming summer, and Danny’s mood had rarely been fouler. Chin and Kono had taken to avoiding him as much as possible, and finally Chin confronted Steve in the hallway.

“Please do something,” he begged.

Steve had been trying. He'd tried offering garlic shrimp, beer, steaks, all the usual treats and temptations he could think of that could include a walk on the beach, but nothing had been able to tempt the sour-mooded detective.

“I’m trying,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and huffing out a breath that betrayed how exasperated he was.

“I know,” Chin sighed. “I even brought him coco puffs, and he wouldn’t touch them.”

Steve almost laughed at that, but it was a bad sign he knew. Danny never refused sweets. This called for a walk on the beach, Steve knew. And not just any walk on just any beach....

“Ok, I’ll try something different,” he said, an idea suddenly forming in his head.

Chin smiled, patted him on the back, said “Good man,” and left, taking Kono with him—on the pretext that they had a family dinner that night and needed to cook something to take with them, which Steve knew was a lie. He was pretty sure they were going to go surf off some of the tension from the week.

Steve walked into Danny’s office. “Ok, buddy,” he said, as firmly as he could, when Danny looked so utterly pathetic. “It can wait for Monday. Let’s get out of here.”

Fortunately, Danny seemed to have come to some sort of breaking point, and had been tapping his pen on his desk and not actually working, so he gave in without too much protest.

Once Danny was settled in the Camaro's passenger seat, he picked up where he’d last left off complaining about Rachel and England and summer vacation and Hawaii, and tropical fruit (evidently pineapple was somehow to blame for the mess that was Danny’s life), and he was so distracted, he didn’t pay attention to where Steve was going (Steve took a moment to wonder where Danny assumed they were going, as he hadn’t asked, which was interesting). Eventually Steve pulled into a secluded parking lot that led to a lovely stretch of beach. He got out, and so did Danny, not pausing his lecture until Steve took his boots off and put them in the trunk.

Danny cut off in the middle of a sentence about how they have pineapples in England, or something, Steve wasn’t really sure, he’d not been paying much attention....

“Where are we?” Danny asked, looking around him.

“At the beach,” said Steve lightly.

“Clearly, jackass. Why?” But he took his shoes off too, tossing them next to Steve’s, slamming the trunk with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Because,” Steve said. “Just, come on.” He held his hand out for Danny, which brought the eye daggers out again. Steve smiled. “Ok, just follow me.” And he set off down to the shoreline.

Danny followed, grumbling, and stayed resolutely out of the water, continuing his litany of complaints, and it took Steve some finagling to get Danny in the water. Even once he had gotten those sweet toes wet, Danny had continued to gripe, but eventually, his ranting slowed, and so did he, and before he knew it, Steve found his hand was being held. They reached the end of the shoreline, up against a cliff face, and went to sit on a pile of boulders at the base of the cliff. Danny snuggled up against Steve, still holding his hand.

“Thanks, babe,” he sighed, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve whimpered slightly at that, and bent down to kiss the top of Danny’s head. “Sure thing, Danno,” he replied.

They sat like that for a while, till the sun had set, then their stomachs started growling. “Back to mine for take-out?” Steve suggested, hopefully.

“Sure, babe,” Danny replied easily.

Danny held his hand the whole way back to the car, and even once they got in, he reached for it again, and held it as Steve drove. When they pulled up to Steve’s house, and Danny didn’t move right away to get out, Steve turned to look questioningly at him. Smiling bemusedly, Danny asked, “How do you do that?”

Steve frowned. “Do what?” He asked.

“Calm me down,” Danny replied on a bit of a sigh.

A grin spread across Steve’s face as it occurred to him that Danny hadn’t yet made the connection between the waves tickling his toes and a vast improvement of his state of mind. Leaning forward to kiss Danny lightly, he smirked. “Just my special power, I guess,” Steve replied, smugly.

Danny reached up and pulled him in closer for a more passionate kiss. “Yeah,” he breathed onto Steve’s lips. “I guess so.”


	11. Comfort Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's a mess after his trip home to take care of the money Matt left their mom. Steve finally figures out how to make it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just something my post-episode 16 feelings needed... everything’s taking too long to write right now, *sighs dramatically* but I finally got it done!

It was one of those in-the-office-doing-paperwork-all-day kinds of days, which happened, but the whole week had been like that, and it was maybe getting a bit old... but Steve was surprising himself by not being overly frustrated by it. For some reason, he was doing a lot better than he usually did, dealing with being caged up in his office. He was kind of feeling proud of himself for that.

Well. Ok. Maybe there was a reason why. A fiery blond reason.

Danny was sick. Steve suspected it was mainly emotionally sick, because he’d been a bit on edge ever since he’d gone back to Jersey to deal with the money Matt had left for their mom. He tended to do that sometimes—work himself into a bit of a state over some overly emotional thing, and wind up physically ill. Steve hated it, and wished he could _do_ something about it. Do something to help Danny deal better with it _before_ it got to the point that Danny was sick. Because once Danny was sick, he did tend to let Steve take care of him. He even kind of demanded it sometimes—as if it were somehow Steve’s fault that Danny had become unwell. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to Steve that Danny seemed to enjoy letting Steve take care of him. He just wished he could be granted preventative permission, not just curative.

The point being, since Danny was not feeling so great, but refused to do anything about it, he was spending an awful lot of the week on the sofa in Steve’s office. This actually meant that Steve was essentially doing Danny’s paperwork as well as his own, because Danny would whine about not being able to sit upright, and could he dictate and Steve could type. Ruefully admitting that he was something of a pushover when it came to Danny when he was unwell, Steve had not resisted. And, so, if he was dealing well with a week of in-the-office-doing-paperwork because it was meaning Danny in his office on the sofa.... Well. Who could blame him?

One thing Danny hadn’t let Steve do that week was take him home. “I’m not that sick,” he would whine each time Steve tried to suggest Danny come back to his place and let him feed him. And yet, each morning, after just a little while in his own office, Danny had ended up on Steve’s sofa, complaining the lights were too bright, or the AC was up too high, or why didn’t he have a softer sofa, or something.

But now it was Friday, and Danny had been out of sorts all week, and Steve was about to put his foot down.

“Danny,” he said, from his desk, towards the lump on his sofa that was hidden under the blanket that had appeared mysteriously, half way through the week. “Hey, Danno...” he sighed. Getting up, he walked over to the sofa and perched on the edge. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.” Danny groaned. “Come on, buddy. You’re going to come home with me. You have got to get better, ok? This is ridiculous. It’s been all week.”

Danny lifted the blanket off his head and leveled a glare at Steve. “Well, sleep would probably help, jerk. Why’d you wake me up?”

Steve smirked. “Because it’s five o’clock on Friday night, and I want a beer.” Danny huffed and turned back over. Licking his lips, Steve got up. “Ok, then, I guess I’ll just have to carry you to the car.”

Danny bolted upright far faster than could have possibly been a good idea for someone who supposedly felt so unwell. Steve hid his smile and wrapped an arm around his partner, steering him towards the door. It was actually a little bit before five, but he’d sent the others home a while ago, since they’d all been very well behaved and finished their paperwork earlier in the day and had begun to get a little feisty, making up games in the hallway. So, he permitted himself a bit of a closer hold on Danny than he would typically have, if the others had been around. Dumping Danny in the passenger’s seat of the Camaro, Steve climbed in and started for home.

He’d been a little surprised that Danny had not protested his plan, but very glad, because he’d had no intention of letting Danny off the hook. Steve had gone shopping the evening before, figuring the chances were good that Danny would still be “not feeling great” by Friday, and knowing he didn’t have the kids that weekend, so he had no motivation to get better. Still working on the assumption that Danny wasn’t actually sick, but just emotionally upset, Steve had opted for Danny’s favorite comfort foods rather than Steve’s usual when-Danny’s-sick health foods.

Steve settled Danny in front of the TV with the remote and a blanket and went to the kitchen to make dinner. He pulled out the recipe and the ingredients and shook his head at himself in amusement. With a deep breath, he steeled his nerves for attempting Danny’s mom’s chicken parm. Not a typical Steve McGarrett dish, but one she’d promised would bring a smile to her son’s face—even, she swore, if he didn’t get it quite right.

“It’s the thought that counts, baby doll,” she’d said to him when he expressed doubt at his ability to tackle the daunting dish. “As long as the flavors are there, that’s what he needs.” He could tell she was smiling at a memory. “One time, when the kids were home alone, they tried to make it, and they did things in the wrong order, and it was a mess, but Danny still ate the whole thing. So, just try. He’ll love you for it.” Steve had blushed, but yeah, that had sold him on it.

She’d said to start with garlic bread and a marinara dipping sauce, so he brushed the oil and garlic and herb mixture on the prepared dough and put those in the oven while the sauce heated on the stove. And then he started on the chicken. He’d found a video online about proper breading procedure, and he followed it as closely as he could, but he was certain his fingers were not supposed to be so... coated.... Still, he was fairly impressed with himself, and by the time the garlic bread was ready, the chicken was well on its way, and he was feeling a little more hopeful.

Steve took the bread and a beer out to Danny, who he found sitting upright, watching some sports program on mute, and looking at Steve with the strangest expression.

“What are you doing in there, Steven?” Danny asked, tone strained and odd.

“Making dinner, buddy!” He replied, setting the bread and sauce in front of him.

Danny’s eyes narrowed. “That looks like mom’s recipe...” he said, and Steve wasn’t sure what to make of his tone—it was disbelief mingled with something heavy.

Steve bit his lip but smiled hopefully. “I did what she said... but I’m not sure how it will be... the dough of course isn’t Jersey dough....”

Danny took a bite, and the groan that escaped his lips went directly to Steve’s gut. “Oh, babe, that’s amazing. Not quite the same, but so good. Ohhh,” Danny took another bite, and Steve managed a smile.

“Ok, good. I gotta go check on the rest,” he called as he headed back to the kitchen. Danny waved him off with a mouth full of bread and sauce.

Steve walked back to the kitchen with a smile bordering on smug, a slight jaunt to his step, and giddy thoughts of anticipation making him a little jittery. Pouring himself a shot of whisky, for his nerves, he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. He checked the chicken, and thought it looked almost ready, so he got the salad out, and began putting plates together.

Danny had finished most of the bread and sauce by the time Steve brought the finished plates out, and he was looking decidedly more content than he had all week. But when Steve put the plate down in front of Danny... well. He’d hoped for a positive reaction. A smile, praise, surprise, happiness... something along those lines. What he hadn’t counted on was the heat in those blue eyes.

“I’m speechless.”

Steve bit his lip, but refused to ruin it with a snarky comment.

Danny took a bite, and then looked at Steve, who was still standing there, expectantly. “Come here,” he said, reaching a hand up towards Steve.

Swallowing with some effort, Steve sat down carefully, at the other end of the sofa.

“No, you goof, closer,” Danny rolled his eyes, still reaching his hand out as if he wanted to grab Steve by the shirt, and sure enough, as Steve scooted closer, Danny grabbed him. Steve held his breath. “Thank you. I can’t believe you. But, thank you.” And Steve thought, for one incredible moment, that Danny was going to kiss him. But just as Steve thought he might pass out from not breathing, Danny let him go and turned back to the food, and the TV.

Not sure if he was relieved or disappointed—ok, who was he kidding, he was a little bit let down—Steve picked up his plate and decided the food was really not bad.

As soon as Danny finished his food, he sat back on the sofa, more relaxed and happier than Steve had seen him in a long time. He kicked his feet up into Steve’s lap, which was a little awkward, as Steve was still trying to eat, but he was not going to complain. He ate some more, but then put his plate aside, and leaned back, enjoying the physical closeness with Danny, especially after the rough week, and not being able to do more for Danny.

Once Steve settled back, he noticed Danny was watching him. He tried to ignore it, and kind of managed for a bit, but eventually he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin, so he turned to Danny with an eyebrow raised, and looked back.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Danny said, softly.

Steve closed his eyes, and smiled. “You needed some pampering, Danny. You’ve been a mess since you got back from Jersey, and I just had to do something.”

“So, what, you called my mom?” And it could have been snarky, but it seemed more like it was... awed.

Steve managed a little laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s given me some good advice about handling you over the years,” Steve admitted.

Danny, fortunately, laughed. “That’s completely terrifying and awesome and hilarious. I can just imagine the two of you plotting....” Suddenly he shuddered. “Actually, no, scratch that. I do _not_ want to imagine that.” But he smiled, warmly, at Steve, took his feet off Steve’s lap, and went to stand up. “I need a shower, babe, then bed.” And he reached out to Steve like he was going to pull him up. Steve grinned, but tried to remain calm. Danny frequently just made himself at home, and Steve was used to it, so he followed Danny up the stairs to his room, and watched, amused, as Danny went to shower in his bathroom. Torn for a moment, he decided to use the other bathroom. He finished before Danny did, and was sitting on his bed, clean, and still wet, by the time Danny came out, looking better than he had all week. Steve might have accidentally licked his lips. But really, he was just so glad Danny was finally seeming more himself.

But then Danny walked over to Steve, stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at him, looking... Steve almost wanted to call it angry. Danny reached down and grabbed Steve by the shirt again, yanking him to his feet. “You. Have been driving me crazy all night,” Danny practically growled.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Danny replied, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Steve wanted, so, so badly, to fall back on the bed taking Danny with him, but he forced himself to stay still. Danny broke the kiss, and looked for a moment like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, but then he seemed to come to a decision, and he shoved Steve backwards, down on to the bed, and landed on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, diving back in for another kiss. And Steve only _just_ had time to think to himself that he should have known that food from home was the best way to get in Danny’s pants... but he never would have imagined it would work quite so well.


	12. Date Night, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first Date Night went so well, Steve finally gets Danny on a Second Date......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just don’t even know what my feelings were doing with this, but “I needed a break from DG” comes to mind..... I have to say, though, researching these date night stories is kind of fun..... And, yeah, those are real menu items. I swear.

Following the success of their first “date night,” Steve had become somewhat obsessed with finding something to best it. He’d finally settled on Sarento’s, a snazzy (ok, ok, snobby) Italian restaurant at the top of the Ilikai Hotel. It was insanely expensive, and Steve had been penny pinching more than usual to save up for it, but he was determined to spoil Danny. He’d reserved a table with a city view, so once more he could hopefully keep Danny from dwelling on where they were, and just enjoy a night on the town. Knowing Danny didn’t have the kids this weekend, he decided a Saturday night date would be more fun than a weeknight, plus they could avoid piquing the curiosity of the rest of the team. Friday morning, Steve brought malasadas and coffee and stopped by Danny’s place early.

Danny opened the door, still in his sweats, looking rumpled and exhausted, but when he saw what Steve was holding in his hands, he smirked, and opened the door all the way, stepping aside to let him in, grabbing the coffee as he walked past. “Thanks, babe,” he said sleepily. “What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied, hoping he sounded at least a little bit snarky.

Danny caught it and grabbed the bag of malasadas away from him on a laugh. “Fair enough,” he said, as he bit into one of the still-warm bits of fried dough. “Ahh,” he sighed. “That helps.”

“I’m glad,” Steve said softly. “And I hope... Saturday night will help even more.”

Danny perked up at that. “Oh, yeah? A date night?” And Steve was sure Danny’s eyes were _twinkling_.

Steve smiled and nodded.

“Do I get to know where?” Danny asked.

“Some place fancy,” was all Steve would say.

“Good,” Danny replied, and walked over to Steve, kissed him—something he hadn’t done since that last date night, and then went to get ready.

Steve’s smile broadened into a smirk, and he leaned back on the sofa to wait for Danny.

Steve was fairly sure that day at work was at least twice as long as a normal day, and he was jumping out of his skin by five o’clock. He winked to Danny as he left, and nearly sped home where he promptly swam five miles. Fortunately he slept soundly, and, upon waking, went out to swim five more miles. He had some chores to do, so the day progressed fairly easily, and before too long it was time to get ready. He’d told Danny he’d pick him up at six.

Dressing carefully in black slacks, black shirt, and no tie, Steve drove to Danny’s.

Danny opened the door, dressed this time in dark dress pants and a dark burgundy dress shirt, no tie, collar standing up just enough to satisfy Steve’s enjoyment of that particular habit. Danny’s hair seemed to have received rather a lot of attention, and Steve resisted the urge to mess it up. They walked to the Camaro, and Steve opened the driver’s door for Danny, who smirked delightedly as he slid in.

“You realize, I have no idea where we’re going, so you’ll have to help me out here,” Danny said once Steve was in.

“Just head towards town,” Steve said, nonchalantly.

 

When they got there, Danny looked suitably impressed, and slipped his arm in Steve’s as they rode the elevator to the top.

“I’ve always wondered about this place,” he said, somewhat wistfully, as the doors slid open, revealing the simple but elegant setting, and the frankly stunning view of the city below. “Huh. Almost reminds me of home,” he said softly, and Steve tried to hide his gloating smile.

Once they settled in, Steve savored watching Danny, who was clearly enjoying the menu.

“What looks good, Danny?” He asked.

“I’m leaning towards the Australian lamb,” Danny replied. “You?”

“The fish with the squid ink gnocchi, I think,” Steve said, watching Danny very closely for his reaction.

He wasn’t disappointed. Danny licked his lips. “Yeah, you would,” he said, softly, eyes dancing. “Alright, then,” he said, grabbing for the wine menu. “Well, I have no idea what wine goes with squid ink,” Danny said, eyeing Steve heatedly, “but I think the Australian Shiraz will go well with my lamb. That ok with you?”

Steve was leaning back, watching Danny, in snazzy restaurant mode. It made him want to go to New York with him.....

“Yeah, sounds good,” he finally replied, spurred out of his reverie by Danny’s _ahem_. “Starter?” he asked. “Or salad?”

“Mmmm, salad, I think,” Danny replied. “Greek. You going to order for me?” He asked, jokingly.

“No,” Steve said, drawing the vowel out. Then, on a guess: “Why don’t you order for me?” And he was rewarded for the suggestion, as Danny’s eyes flashed at that.

“Alright, then,” he whispered, setting the menus aside, eyes never leaving Steve’s.

And, here we go again, Steve found himself thinking. All the focus of Danny Williams, not fluttering about as usual, but focused squarely on Steve, only this time it wasn’t odd or uncomfortable or anything other than something he’d been craving, anticipating, and, yeah, longing for. So he sat back in his chair and watched Danny watch.

The waiter came over, and Danny broke his focus on Steve for long enough to flirt with the waiter and order at the same time. When he returned his gaze to Steve, it was with a playful glint that Steve imagined was a “See what I did there?” Steve just licked his bottom lip and held Danny’s eyes with a smile.

“So, how was your day?” He asked.

Danny laughed. “Oh, did some cleaning, some laundry. Very exciting. You?”

He smiled. “Same. Swam, laundry, mowed the lawn.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair of completely enthralling men. Living the exciting life.”

“Somehow,” Steve began slowly. “I think we make up for that during the work day....”

Danny broke into a wide smile. “Yeah, you make a fair point,” he replied, eyes still twinkling. “So,” he continued after a beat. “What brought on this lovely evening?”

Steve tilted his head at Danny. “Do I need a reason?”

“Well, last time... it was to distract me. Get me out of a crummy mood.” He paused, considering. “I don’t _think_ I’ve been in a bad mood,” he said slowly, looking at Steve as if to say _please correct me if I’m wrong_ , which was an odd expression for him. “So, why?”

Steve huffed out a little laugh, maybe a bit bemused, perhaps more doubting, because he was fairly sure his motivation was obvious.

Danny smirked in reply to his laugh, so, maybe the blond was toying with him.

“I like to pamper you,” Steve said, softly, sincerely. He thought for a moment. “You’re always complaining that I ruined your life, so maybe this is my way of making up for it.”

Some slight flash of sadness flew past Danny’s eyes, but it was replaced almost instantly with amusement. “It’ll take a lot of nights like this to make up for _that_ ,” he replied, maybe just a little tauntingly.

And, Danny probably knew exactly what he was doing with that, because, of course, _challenge accepted_. Steve grinned. “Ok,” he said, eagerly.

Danny shook his head in amusement, and their wine arrived. The waiter had not missed Danny’s earlier flirting, and took the opportunity of offering him the bottle, the cork, and the first taste, to show off his seductive, wine-based skills. Steve was amused, but allowed himself the tiniest territorial threatening glare in the waiter’s direction when it came for him to pour Steve’s glass of wine. He might have gone a little heavy on the threatening aspect of that glare, as the waiter’s silken smile slipped just fractionally when he handed Steve his glass.

Danny missed none of it, and was clearly enjoying it, permitting himself a lingering look at the retreating figure of the somewhat chastised waiter.

“Poor kid,” Danny mumbled as he turned back to the wine, and to Steve.

“Nice wine, though,” Steve said on a smirk.

“Company’s not bad, either,” Danny replied, smiling slyly.

Steve’s eyebrows went up at that. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a refreshing change of opinion.”

They chatted idly, playfully, until the salads arrived, whereupon Danny stole the shrimp from Steve’s plate, while Steve watched, bemused, but permissive, and sat back, savoring the fruity, syrupy richness of the wine in his mouth as he watched Danny clearly enjoying his pilfered shrimp.

“You really are all about the food, aren’t you?” Steve mused, finally sitting forward and taking a bite of his own salad, which, if he was honest, really was pretty damn amazing, for a salad. “Ok, maybe it’s the wine, but this is really good.”

Danny just smiled, and they finished their salads in relative silence, exchanging meaningful looks, and an easy air of tension that was relaxing and exciting at the same time.

When their main courses arrived, they offered each other tastes, admired each others’ choices, and then settled into their own dishes with a comfortable air of familiarity.

“For a second date,” Danny said at one point. “This is the most relaxed I’ve ever been.”

Steve smirked. “Oh yeah? You get more nervous on second dates than first?”

“Well, yeah,” Danny replied, as though that were completely obvious.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way ‘round?” Steve asked, sincerely curious.

“No, not at all,” Danny replied, around a mouthful of lamb. “The first date, you’re figuring out if you have anything in common, if there’s any point to doing it again. It’s exciting, but there’s no pressure. A second date, on the other hand, you’ve already invested, you’ve decided there’s enough there to do it again, but what if you’re wrong, or what if your date changes their mind, seeing more of you. You’re more exposed—you go deeper, or you stay on the surface, either way, it’s a risk.”

“Huh,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “I never thought of it like that.”

Danny smiled. “Of course not. You probably just assume your date is in love with you, because of course they are.”

Steve laughed. “Danny, the Smooth Dog thing really was a joke. I do not date well. I’d think you would have realized that by now.”

Danny licked his lower lip. “Yeah? Looks pretty good from here, babe,” and he took a sip of his wine.

Steve couldn’t resist the smirk. “That’s because you already love me.”

And Danny laughed and went back to his food.

Once they’d finished, and were lingering over the last of the wine, the waiter brought the dessert and drinks menu.

“Chocolate volcano....” Danny said, brightly. “Well, we can’t pass that up.” And Steve laughed. “You going to get a coffee? Or a glass of port?”

“Naw, I’m good,” Steve replied. “But you go ahead, I’ll drive home.” And was Steve imagining things, or did Danny perk up at that?

When the waiter came to take their order, Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard the word “volcano” infused with so much innuendo. And then Danny ordered his after dinner coffee.

“And, I’ll have an Italian Stallion, as well,” he said, looking directly at Steve as he said it. Steve had to bite his lips together to keep from honest to goodness snorting.

The waiter looked extremely put out by the very heated expression Danny was clearly intending only for Steve.

“I cannot believe you,” Steve whispered as soon as the waiter had gone.

“Oh, believe it, babe,” Danny replied, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms up over his head. Steve was tempted to suggest that if Danny only had a cigar, the image would be complete.

When Danny’s coffee came, Steve swore he could smell the cognac from his side of the table. Danny offered him a taste, but Steve smirked in response. “I am not putting something called an Italian Stallion in my mouth, thank you.”

“Aw, babe, you don’t know what you’re missing,” Danny said, smacking his lips obscenely.

“I will, however,” Steve continued, when the dessert was brought, “take a bite of your volcano.” He even almost managed to keep a straight face, but failed at the end and choked on suppressing his laugh.

Danny looked shocked, but then dissolved in near giggles. He took a spoonful and handed the spoon to Steve.

“Yeah, ok, that’s pretty good,” Steve admitted.

Danny tasted it. “Well, bizarre island name notwithstanding, it is very nice.” He sat back with his ridiculously named coffee in hand.

Steve took another bite before handing the spoon back. When he looked up he saw Danny watching him. He raised his eyebrows and asked: “What?”

Danny just shook his head and had some more of the chocolate dessert.

After a while, with Steve watching Danny, and Danny sipping his coffee, occasionally taking a bit of his dessert, it occurred to Steve that Danny was looking a little sleepy.

“Hey, Daniel, you doing ok there? Only you look like you’re about to fall asleep in your volcano.”

Danny smiled, very sweetly, and maybe just a tiny bit sadly.

“I think maybe I should get you home,” Steve said, and gestured to the waiter for the check.

In the car on the way home, and Steve did in fact drive, Danny somehow managed to curl up against Steve. He didn’t fall asleep, but he was quiet, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was a good quiet or a not-so-good one.

They pulled up at Danny’s, and Steve got out and opened the passenger door, held out his hand for Danny’s, and walked him to his door. Danny got the door open, then turned around, and practically fell into Steve’s arms, kissing him lightly, sweetly, and again, just that touch of sadness. Steve was startled to realize Danny was crying.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, stepping back enough to get a look at Danny’s face.

He was smiling. Really sweetly. But there were those tears... Steve was totally unsure what to make of that.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny said so so softly. “That was a wonderful second date.”

And Steve thought maybe he had an idea of what was going on in that muddled head of his partner’s.

“I’m glad, Daniel. So, when can I see you again?”

And, there... that did it. Just a tiny flash, but, a decidedly happier glint sparked in Danny’s blue eyes. “Well, I’ve got the kiddos next weekend, but the one after that? Saturday was nice.”

Steve leaned in for another kiss. “Perfect. See you then.” He turned and walked to his truck, and when he looked back, Danny was still standing in the porch light, tears wiped away, hand held to his face, but his eyes looked more hopeful than Steve had seen them in a long time, and that, he decided was _more_ than worth the price of dinner.


	13. Derby Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny loves the Derby. Danny has rituals about watching the Derby. Neither Steve nor the island’s Bad Guys respect this. Dangit.
> 
> (This might seem like a stretch, for a TBM, but....just humor me.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not writing. I am still taking a break. Really. This just... needed to happen...... And, yes, it’s the Preakness today, but I was posting DG8 on Derby Day, so.... let’s just pretend.
> 
> (J, I swear, I'm not trying to torment you with hats. I don't even know where this one came from, it just knocked on the window while I was writing BYS20, and like I fool I let it in.... Ok, I maybe added a few little embellishments purely for your benefit.....)

Danny was just about ready to start his traditional Kentucky Derby viewing ritual. He was dressed elegantly if he did say so himself, in a pale yellow shirt, gray slacks, and his Derby hat (gray trilby with a pale yellow band, and yes, he did coordinate very nicely, thank you very much). It was kind of his nod, both to the theme fashion item of the day, and also to the always brilliantly clad Bob Baffert. His cigar, though still unlit, was already clenched between his teeth, and he was just contemplating his drink choice. (Yes, it was a little early in the day for it, but it’s the freaking Derby, and he lives in Hawaii, what do you want from him?)

Needless to say, Danny was feeling both pleased with himself and just generally delighted with life. When his doorbell rang. His heart just sank. _Oh, please, God, no. Not on Derby Day, please._

He opened the door. He didn’t even have to look, he knew who it would be. And why. Because that was just his damn luck.

“Hello, Steven. What brings you out on this fine day to crush my hopes and dreams?”

Steve’s jaw had dropped, and he was looking at Danny like he was wearing a flower in his hair or something.

“What... what on earth are you wearing, Danny?” He asked, stumbling over his words more than usual. The big goof. Danny sighed.

"Whadya mean, what am I wearing, this is my Derby hat, Steven, what's the matter with you?"

Steve was clearly stifling a laugh. But Danny was not in the mood.

“Come on, buddy, we gotta go. You, uh, you want to change into something more practical?”

“Do I want to... no, I do not, Steven. It is the Derby, and if some stupid jerk has seen fit to ruin my day then I can shoot them or book ‘em just as well in my Derby outfit as anything.”

Steve couldn’t hide his laugh. “Your ‘outfit,’ Danny? What are you, a twelve year old girl?”

“Shut up. Let’s go.” He tossed his cigar into his still empty cup and grabbed his gun, closing the door.

It turned out that Danny was, in fact, perfectly capable of catching and handcuffing said stupid jerk without so much as lifting the hat from his head. He admitted, he was a little impressed with himself. But that was nothing compared to how Steve had been looking at him as they’d raced through the streets to catch the guy.

Danny was sure there was some extra layer of something in Steve’s tone when he said “Book ‘em Danno,” and Danny resisted the urge to sweep his hat off in a flourish before he did.

“Ok, you stupid jackass, you have completely ruined my day, and I’m only glad you will never again ruin someone’s Derby Day where you’ll be spending the rest of your life. Now, let’s go.” Out of the corner of his eye, Danny caught Steve smirking, and he glared at him in response. “Shut up,” he mumbled in Steve’s direction.

When all was wrapped up, they climbed back in the Camaro, but instead of heading back to Danny’s, Steve took them to his place.

“I am not in the mood for beers and beach today, ok, babe? I’m just. I missed the Derby, I just want to wallow in self pity and fantasize about living back home in a civilized world where criminals are too busy watching the horses to do stupid things.”

Steve laughed full out on that. “Really, Danny? In Jersey no one commits crimes on Derby Day?”

Danny just sighed in response.

“Ok, buddy. No beers on the beach, but gimme a chance to make it up to you, ok? Just come in for a bit.”

Danny nodded silently and got out of the car.

Nothing could have prepared him for what was inside.

Kamekona was, first of all, wearing a hat, not unlike Danny’s own, and a seer sucker jacket, if that didn’t just beat all. He had a table all decked out with classic Derby food.... fried chicken, of course (it was Kamekona after all), but he'd also made wonderful looking Kentucky hot browns, very dainty Benedictine sandwiches, and several really rich looking pecan pies.... But the crowning jewel was undeniably the most beautiful and elegant mint juleps Danny had ever seen (well, except for the fact that they had cocktail umbrellas in them, but still).

Everyone else was there, as well. Max was wearing a bow tie, though no hat, but Jerry was wearing a lovely straw boater and had slicked his hair back in a pony tail under it. Grover was dressed to the nines, hat and all, and although he looked more Chicago gangster than Southern Gent, he was decidedly classy in shades of pale blue. Flippa was dressed as usual, but even Chin had forgone the usual tropical print shirt for a more elegant button down in soft pink of all things. Abby and Kono were wearing bright floral dresses, and hats with fresh orchids on them, not roses, but Danny admitted it worked.

Danny turned to look at Steve.

“Are you kidding me with this? What the hell did you do, Steven, pay that guy to break the law today so you could do this?”

Steve just smirked and pressed play on the DVR recording of the complete Derby coverage, handing Danny a cigar.

"Daniel, relax and have a fucking cigar."


	14. Date Night Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s plan for the perfect third date goes wrong when a case comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J-- Happy birthday weekend, babe. ;-)

It had taken Steve a ridiculously long time to come up with the _perfect_ third date. But he felt confident he’d finally cracked it. It had been a busy month. So busy, he’d barely been able to get Danny out for drinks after work with the team. He’d had better luck stopping by Danny’s place in the morning with coffee and take-out from the Wailana Diner (terrifyingly sweet pancakes, of course, but he’d been managing to get Danny to eat some of his veggie omelet as well, by pretending to want some of Danny’s pancakes—he was learning). But several long-running cases were just about done, and Rachel had taken the kids to a resort on the Big Island for the weekend while Stan was out of town, so Steve knew Danny was free and would just mope at home if Steve didn’t do something.

After considering and discarding what felt like every single fancy and non-tropical themed restaurant on the island, Steve had decided that an evening at home was just what Danny needed. But he still wanted it to be indescribably elegant. Once he’d thought of it, he kicked himself for not having thought of it sooner. It was such a wonderful idea, he’d already planned out in his head a repeat of it in a few months, that’s how certain he was it was going to go over wonderfully.

He’d planned very carefully, so that everything would come together just perfectly, schedules aligned, conspirators employed, the scene set (he’d been having Nahele do small jobs around the house, and hanging twinkly lights on the lanai had been a revelation, even he had to admit). Morimoto had designed a platter of Danny’s favorites, and had arranged for a busboy to bring it by Steve’s house at the appointed time. Everything was going to be wonderful. Danny was going to feel relaxed, comfortable, at home, and pampered at the same time. And all Steve had to do was mix up some drinks, maybe feed Danny some sushi, and bask in the glow of a contented and pleased Danny Williams. Steve couldn’t wait.

So, of course, it all went down the drain the middle of that afternoon when some idiot thought it would be a good idea to release six dozen snakes in downtown—as a distraction, mind you—so he could break in to the headquarters of some business Steve was sure he would never understand, to steal the code for some... machine... or something. Seriously. What the heck. He was actually beginning to be a little concerned for his sanity.

To be totally honest, Steve probably wasn’t really paying much attention when Chin tried to explain it—for the third time—because he was so upset about the ruined plans for his date night with Danny.

Danny, for some strange reason, was utterly enthralled, and despite his earlier exhaustion, seemed to be enjoying the whole thing. Which, considering there were snakes involved kind of surprised Steve.

“They’re not real snakes, Steven,” Danny was laughing at him when Steve inadvertently expressed his disbelief out loud (he was slipping, usually he did a better job of keeping his internal Danny monologue silent).

The look of confusion on his face set Danny laughing again, and Steve was left standing in the middle of the street completely unsure of what was going on.

Somehow he got through the rest of the case on instinct alone, because his brain never fully kicked in. Well, it engaged enough for him to text Nahele to be at the house when the sushi was delivered, but he was pretty sure he sleepwalked through the rest of the case, which his team managed brilliantly anyway. Which left Steve to spend the evening—the evening he’d fully planned on spending pampering Danny, on the lanai, with his favorite sushi and Steve’s famous margaritas, a combination that was guaranteed to be memorable—well, frankly, moping.

Danny was oblivious, and was having a great time, and Steve had to admit that stung just a little.

But then, Steve hadn’t told Danny about their plans. Hadn’t even told him they _had_ plans. It was all going to be the most wonderful of surprises.

Somehow, in a feat of something, Steve managed to get through the case, well into the night. When finally they were done, they stood in the parking lot, Steve completely unsure what he should do. They were wide awake, having been running on adrenaline for hours, and he at least was starving. But he could not read Danny at all.

Danny leaned back against the Camaro and sighed. “Man, I’m upset it’s so late. I was really in the mood for sushi tonight.”

Steve froze.

“There should really be a late night sushi place,” Danny continued. Looked at his watch. “Well, I guess at this point it would be more like ‘early morning sushi,’ but still. You’d think, on this hip island, there’d be some sort of concession for the whims of villainous scheduling challenges.”

Steve was pretty sure that wasn’t what Danny really said, because his brain had short circuited somewhere around “I was really in the mood for sushi tonight.” Was it possible Danny _knew_?

“Uh,” Steve began. _Eloquent as usual, McGarrett_ , his inner voice provided helpfully. “I have some food at my place... if you want to come back..?”

Danny perked up. Steve really was feeling very suspicious.

“Yeah, babe, I’d love that!” And Danny threw the keys at Steve who nearly dropped them.

Shaking himself to bring his mind to focus, Steve ran through in his head how Danny might have possibly found out about the sushi, and came up totally blank.

By the time they got to Steve’s, he’d managed to pull himself out of trying to decide if Danny had known, because he’d fallen into obsessing over the drinks he was planning on making. Slightly unconventional, he knew, to pair margaritas with sushi, nonetheless he knew it worked—there’d been one time, in Baja... but that was a story for another time. More to the point, Steve had seen Danny drink a margarita once, and it had been such a memorable event, he’d vowed to repeat the experience. He’d actually been keeping all the ingredients for his Navy famous margaritas on hand, waiting for the perfect time to impress Danny with them. As soon as he’d decided on dinner at home, he’d known. Whatever food he decided on, the drinks would be margaritas.

They went straight to the kitchen and Steve began to get the drinks together. Danny opened the fridge and began poking around. Steve waited for his reaction to the plates of sushi, which Steve knew Danny would instantly recognize. Sure enough. Steve heard the fridge door close, and he felt Danny’s arms wrap around him from behind.

“You. Are. Amazing.”

Steve grinned. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. Very much.” Danny released Steve, and Steve took a moment to gather himself.

When he opened his eyes, he found Danny watching him.

“What?” He asked, puzzled by the look on Danny’s face.

Danny smiled. “Nothing at all, babe.” He nodded to the ingredients on the kitchen island. “Margaritas?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

Steve bit his lip. “Yeah, they actually go great with sushi....”

Danny’s smile widened. “Excellent.”

Pulling his focus back to the drinks, Steve tried to put his anticipation out of his mind and just make the best margaritas of his life. It was really hard to do with the way Danny was eyeing him. Finally he got the glasses out, carefully rubbed the rims with lime, and coated them thickly with his favorite salt. Filling the glasses with ice, he put the glasses on a tray with the pitcher of margaritas. Danny grabbed the sushi from the fridge and followed Steve out to the lanai.

Once they were settled, with the sushi laid before them, no plates, no chopsticks, no napkins (Steve smirked at that. It wasn’t like Danny didn’t know where the stuff was....), Steve very carefully poured the drinks, careful not to disturb the salt rims.

Steve handed Danny his margarita and watched.

Danny picked up his glass eagerly, and proceeded to lick, yes, _lick_ the salt rim completely off half of the glass. And then take a sip. By which point Steve was pretty sure the fact that he wanted to lick Danny had to be clearly written on his face.

“What?” Danny squinted at Steve.

Steve managed to _not_ lick his lips, but it was a near thing. “Is it ok?” He finally asked.

Danny smiled. “Yeah, babe. It’s wonderful.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “ _This_ is wonderful.”

And, ok, Steve was pretty sure he was grinning like a fool. But he didn’t care. Danny looked so... _at home_. And that made his heart kind of turn over. Afraid he might actually start to cry, he quickly took a rather large drink of his own margarita.

When he looked up, Danny was looking at him proprietarily.

“What?” Steve asked, setting his drink down carefully.

“Perfect third date, babe,” Danny said softly.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, almost under his breath.

Danny’s lips pressed together, a vain attempt to hide his smirk. “Yeah.” And he got up and moved his chair closer to Steve’s. “The lights are a nice touch,” he said, as he picked up a piece of sushi with his fingers.

Steve actually gulped at the look in Danny’s eyes as he leaned in and offered the sushi to Steve. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I thought so....” And he opened his mouth, catching Danny’s fingers in his teeth, just slightly. Danny’s eyes flashed in response.

Picking up what he knew was Danny’s absolute favorite, Steve held Danny’s eyes as he pressed it gently between Danny’s lips, and thrilled as he watched those sparkling blue eyes blur with pleasure, he hoped for only the first time that night.

They settled back with their drinks, and their appetite for food having kicked in and kind of overpowered other appetites for the time being, they managed to polish off all of the sushi in fairly short order. When they’d finished, and the fiery look in Danny’s eyes had not faded, the sun had just begun to creep over the horizon.

“The, uh,” Steve began, stumbled over his words, tried again. “The view of the sunrise is great from the upstairs lanai,” he offered.

Danny grinned and rose, offering Steve his hand. “Sounds perfect, babe,” he replied.

For some reason, the walk back into the house, up the stairs, and out to the lanai played in slow motion in Steve’s mind. Once out on the lanai, he felt like every sense was heightened yet blurred. Danny sat down on the wicker sofa, pulling Steve down next to him, keeping his hold on Steve’s hand, and leaning up against him once he was seated.

Sighing, Danny said: “Seriously. Perfect third date. Thank you.”

Steve found himself smiling like a fool. “I’m glad, Danny,” he whispered, and turned to press a kiss to the side of Danny’s head, which Danny then rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“So, you got plans for today?” Danny asked.

Steve swallowed around his smile. “Got something in mind?” He asked.

“Well,” Danny started. “We should probably sleep....”

Steve’s heart kind of fell a little.

“But there’s some other stuff we might do as well.....”

And Steve’s heart rate jumped. “Yeah?” He asked.

“Well, third date and all.....”

“Danny. That was not....”

Danny pulled Steve in for a kiss before he could finish. “I know, babe,” he said when he broke the kiss. “But I don’t think I can wait for our next date. At the rate we’ve been going it will be three more months, and frankly, I cannot wait that long.”

Steve huffed out a laugh, and leaned in for another kiss. “Ok, then,” he said, so so softly, to Danny’s lips, which, he found himself thinking, had no business being so soft after all that salt.

“Good,” was Danny’s reply, as they leaned back to watch the sunrise, smiling, basking in the morning light, and the promise of a new day.


	15. Sway to the Rhythm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing that's been poking at my heart.....

Danny’d been driving for about an hour, not even realizing where he’d been going. It was late on Sunday evening, he’d just dropped the kids back off at Rachel’s after a perfect, if too short, weekend. _Painfully perfect_ , his mind supplied, utterly unhelpfully. Steve’s words echoed in his head, about focusing on the positive, especially around the kids, and about not yelling at Rachel. But each time he had to take them back to _her_ it was like an even bigger part of his heart stayed behind. And the part he was left with was increasingly broken, battered, bruised, and sixty seven other things all indicating a heart that was feeling like it just stopped _working_ when he wasn’t with them. So when he found himself stopping the Camaro, he looked up to see where he was, and nearly banged his head on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been crying before. His heart hurt too much for that. His head hurt too much for that. Actually, he hadn’t cried in a very long time. So, as stunned to see where his... heart... had taken him, he was even more stunned to find his cheeks wet. He swore softly. And stared out the windshield to Steve’s front door.

 _Of course_ , he sighed to himself, rubbing his face in his hands, gathering his courage to go knock. Because. Well. His heart was already beyond broken. _Why not_ go torture himself even more by being with the _one person_ who could, if he weren’t so _utterly clueless_ , fix it all.

With a breath so deep it hurt, Danny got out of the car, closing the door as silently as he could, more because he was so rattled he didn’t need the loud noise right now thank you very much, than from any fear of giving Steve foreknowledge. He knew Steve would be home. Danny sighed. _Because Steve had told him_.... Danny’s heart stopped when he remembered.

Friday, when Danny’d left early to go get the kids from school:

“Hey, buddy,” Steve had said, breezing into his office, just as he was getting ready to leave. “Have a great weekend with the kiddos, ok?”

Danny had grunted. Tired of snapping at Steve when he was trying to be helpful about this stupid situation, he’d taken to just... grunting.

Steve had just smiled and continued. “I’ll be home Sunday night, if you need to come have a beer after you take them home, ok?”

Danny laughed as he remembered that he’d been unable to look Steve in the eye at that. Because he’d felt tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

Steve had patted him on the back, as Danny had been refusing hugs for some stupid reason. Stupid because they were the only thing that made things even remotely better, and, well, that was why, wasn’t it. Because he needed them. So much. And Steve would never get that. And it had become too painful.

Sighing, and running a hand nervously over his hair, he walked up the front path. When he got to the door, he stilled. Wiping a stray tear off his cheek he steeled his nerves and opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was the downstairs lights were not on, save the one by the door. But light spilled down from upstairs, and then he realized there was soft music coming from upstairs as well. He rubbed his face in his hands once more, rubbed his palms together as if deciding something, walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and headed upstairs to the lanai where he knew he’d find Steve, playing his guitar. He tried really hard not to smile, but, he had to admit. He was thrilled that Steve was playing. As he neared, he thought he recognized the tune from a song Grace liked, that he pretended to hate, and it seemed as though his heart regained just a tiny bit of itself.

Steve didn’t stop playing when Danny walked out on the lanai. He didn’t look up, but Danny caught the smile on those lips.... and let out a breathy half-laugh.

Opening both beers and setting one in front of Steve, he walked to the railing and looked out at the ocean, lit just softly by the moon. He tried to breathe and let the music push at him, like it was holding him up, keeping him from wanting to sit and cry.

Seeming to sense Danny’s need, Steve kept playing.

After a while, and after he finished his beer, Danny started to soften. He found himself swaying with the music just ever so slightly. He stilled when he realized it, and turned, instinctively, to see if Steve had noticed. His breath caught when he did, because Steve was still playing, but he was looking directly at Danny, and there was an openness in his expression that Danny didn’t recognize. The expression turned to a smirk, but a kind one.

“Keep dancing, Danno, it’s good for you.”

Danny couldn’t help it, he actually laughed. But instead, he walked over to where Steve was sitting, sat down in the chair across from him, and reached across to take the still untouched beer.

Steve smiled and nodded in offering, then looked back down at his guitar, still playing.

Danny shook his head in amusement, kicked his feet up on the table, and leaned back, letting the breeze mess up his hair, finding he didn’t mind. He had to admit. This was nice. He felt... safe. He felt comforted. The music Steve was playing kept wrapping around Danny’s heart, like it wanted to fix it, like it wanted to soothe it, and Danny had been so surprised by that he hadn’t resisted, so by the point he noticed the effect it was having, his heart already felt a whole lot better. He sighed as he laughed to himself, because wasn’t that always what Steve did to Danny? And Danny had been resisting it, pushing it away, because he knew.... He knew he always wanted more, _needed_ more. It was a huge part of what hadn’t worked between him and Rachel. His wantyness, his need for more.

Well, maybe he was tired of not taking what he could get just because he knew he couldn’t get everything he wanted. This, even if it was just one night, was helping, and he just couldn’t not take it.

He looked up when he realized Steve had stopped playing. Steve was looking at him again, that open expression in stark contrast to the holding-back Danny felt.

Danny held the beer out to Steve, who took it.

After he took a sip, Steve held on to the beer, and kicked his bare feet up on the table, knocking gently against Danny’s shoes. Danny half expected a snarky quip about this being Hawaii, Danno, take the damn shoes off, but Steve just smiled.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny said, softly, leaning his feet back against Steve’s and leaving them there, the contact grounding, even through the leather.

Steve handed the beer back to Danny, and they continued like that, for longer than Danny would have thought possible, each presumably taking tiny sips, perhaps to prolong the slightly precarious peace they found themselves in. It had been too long since they’d just sat and had beers like this.

Finally the beer was gone, and Steve sat up, placing the bottle on the table, and leaning towards Danny, looking into his eyes with an intensity Danny hadn’t really known possible.

“Your eyes are blue,” he whispered.

“Oh, well spotted, genius,” Danny laughed nervously. The last time someone had said that to him, he’d found himself pressed up against a wall, being kissed and groped and, well, that had been sheer desperation, and the guy had been nothing like Steve, and he’d regretted it instantly. He swallowed. Tried to breathe.

“No, I mean, they look really blue. Deep blue. Usually they’re more sky blue, or plumbago blue, or baby blue.” Steve’s own hazel eyes were looking very green, and very... intent.

Danny knew he was blushing. “How poetic.”

“I can be poetic.”

“Yeah, evidently.”

“Danny.”

“Yeah, babe.” Danny was pretty sure he was still not breathing.

“Come here.” And Steve stood, and offered his hand to Danny. Danny shuddered, felt his eyes start to water _. Oh, what the hell_ , he thought, and took Steve’s hand.

Steve pulled him into a hug, so tight, so strong, so powerful. So filled, it felt to Danny, with all the things he couldn’t say. “Stop fighting it, Danno,” Steve whispered in his ear. And that startled Danny more than it should have. Because, of course Steve knew. Danny shook his head inwardly at himself. Had he really thought Steve didn’t? Or was it just that Danny couldn’t admit to himself what Steve had been offering all along.... Because that would be to allow that it was possible..... And, maybe Danny was just too afraid of what it would mean, of what it would be, of what it would do to him. And, of what would happen if it crashed. Because “burn” didn’t even come close. Break, destroy, utterly demolish....

Danny didn’t realize that he’d begun to cry till he heard Steve shushing him, rocking him just slightly. With one great sob, he gave in, and hugged Steve back, so tightly. He could feel the release of tension. From his own body, but from Steve’s as well.

“There you go,” Steve said, so softly.

Danny didn’t let go. He just kept holding on. And Steve let him. Resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, he sighed. “Oh, babe,” he whispered.

He felt Steve’s smile. “Yeah, Danny?”

Steve was still swaying, and Danny felt the movement so exaggerated because of the emotions that went with it, he felt like they were dancing. He laughed.

“Are you dancing with me?”

Steve kissed the top of Danny’s head. “Yeah, Danno. I’ll dance with you. Always.”

Danny pulled back, looking into those still green looking, still incredibly intent looking eyes. He tilted his head just slightly. “Oh, babe....” but he choked on a lump in his throat. “You just don’t even....”

“Yeah, I do, Danny,” Steve replied sternly. “Yeah, Danny, I do.” And he tilted Danny’s chin with his hand, and leaned in and kissed him. “Stop fighting it, Danny,” he whispered again. “Stop fighting it.”

That one touch of Steve’s lips was what did it, he would later swear. He was just powerless to resist. There was just no earthly way he could have not given in.

So, he smiled, and kissed Steve back. It was weird, he thought, kissing someone while they were smirking, but he figured he’d just have to get used to that.


	16. To Soothe a Grumpy Cop

Steve had been watching Danny closely that week. There’d been a number of cases recently that had been especially rough on him. Cases that involved small children... and fathers. Fathers who had been unfairly treated. Though he’d never say it to Danny, Steve often thought it amusing that Danny gave him such a hard time about his over-involvement, emotionally speaking, with cases about fathers and sons. Because, really, Danny was exactly the same way. OK, so Danny maybe didn’t fall over himself swearing to people that he would fix it. But Danny absolutely was more emotionally invested in cases like those.

And Steve had learned, long ago, to watch Danny closely at times like these. He was pretty sure that Danny hadn’t noticed this habit... hadn’t connected Steve’s more frequent “let’s go out for lunch”ing, or his “come over for a beer”ing with the months that had a high number of father/child related cases. But he felt, for some reason, that it was important that Danny _not_ make that connection. So he was being extra careful. He brought malasadas in one day. Got the “good” coffee for the office coffeemaker. Stocked Danny’s favorite Maui onion potato chips in the snack cupboard in his office. Bribed Kamekona to put a few extra shrimp on Danny’s dish. He’d even been texting with Gracie to make sure they did something special and relaxing that Wednesday evening. He smiled at that thought. She was growing up so fast, and yeah, he missed the days when she’d jump into his arms and wrap her arms around his neck. But he was coming to value more the co-conspirator she’d become, in helping him to control her dad’s moods.

 _We had pizza and watched westerns_ , Grace had texted him that morning. _Both boys loved it. ;-)_

Steve had smiled and texted back. _Good. And you?_

_Put my headphones on and finished my book. :-)_

Steve had laughed out loud. _Thank you_ , he’d replied. _Surfing this weekend?_

 _Yes, please!_ Had been the immediate response. _You ask Danno?_

_Sure thing._

And so late Thursday afternoon found Steve ignoring his paperwork, and trying to figure out how to get Danny to agree to taking the kids to the beach to surf that weekend. Charlie, fortunately, loved to build sandcastles. So, Danny would be content to sit on the sand with him while Steve took Gracie out on the waves. The only thing he was now realizing was that even remotely putting Grace’s life in danger had maybe not been the best choice on his part, as far as weekend plans went. But by the same token, he knew Danny well enough to know that seeing her being OK would be just what he needed right now.

But, getting Danny to relax more before then was absolutely necessary.

Almost as if on cue, Chin appeared in the doorway, on his phone, huge smile on his face.

“My cousin caught a 150 pound Ahi... want some?”

Steve’s enthusiasm was probably a little over the top, but Chin didn’t seem surprised. “Hell yeah!” He exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat. “We’ll grill it at mine tomorrow! Get enough for the whole team.”

Chin gave him the thumbs up as he turned back to his phone and headed out of Steve’s office.

This had to be a good sign, right? It was perfect. It was spontaneous, Danny couldn’t question it. Well, OK, he could, but Steve had plausible deniability at least. It would be the group of them, so not too much focus on Danny, but Steve knew Danny would come early and leave late, so that gave him some extra time to hopefully help his partner relax a bit more.

And then he could ask if he could take Grace surfing. And... more to the point, if Danny would come, too. He sighed and sat back down.

Steve had always been solicitous of his team. Before Five-0. Always. That was his job, it was who he was. The whole partner thing was still a bit of a puzzle for him, but recently, he felt like he’d been making strides in being a better partner.

He took a deep breath.

Maybe it was because he was coming to think of Danny as more. A whole lot more.

Steve pulled at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, ran his fingers through his hair. Started to fidget. He was doing that more lately. He’d been blaming it on worry over Danny’s melancholy and distracted state. But Steve was beginning to not be able to convince himself of that lie very well anymore.   

Just as he was starting to feel like he might bolt out of his skin, Danny stuck his head around Steve’s office door.

“Heard about the fish,” he said slowly. “Need my help tomorrow to get ready for everyone?” He almost smiled, and Steve was sure he looked a bit lighter than he had at lunch.

“Yeah, buddy, that’d be great!” Steve managed to sound casual, he hoped, although Danny kind of squinted at him, so he might have just sounded slightly odd.

“OK, well, I’m beat, and my report’s done, so I’m going to head out early,” Danny said, sounding exhausted.

“Good idea, Danny,” Steve said, getting up. “Me, too.” And he followed Danny out to the parking lot, hoping for a little more time with him, but Danny was seemingly actually exhausted, so Steve just waved, said “See you tomorrow,” and watched with an odd tight feeling in his chest as Danny drove off.

Steve looked accusingly at the banyan trees at the edge of the parking lot, then got in his truck and drove home for a very, very, very long swim.

The next day, Steve could _not_ focus on his paperwork at all. Fortunately, it was just paperwork—they got no calls for cases—so he kinda just let himself drift. He found himself day dreaming about surfing with Danny... watching the sun glint off Danny’s hair, smiling as the salt water dripped down his chest.... Kono kept coming by his office asking what she could bring, suggesting various forms of chocolate, but then changing her mind once Steve said “Yeah, Kono, that sounds great.” He was getting kind of annoyed with her disrupting his... _OK, McGarrett, stop it_. He finally gave in and told everyone to go home, saying not to be late, and to bring whatever they wanted. He’d have the fish on the grill, and beer, and if anyone wanted anything else, to bring it. Then he left before anyone could ask exactly _what_ they should bring.

He swam just for a bit, took a quick shower, and felt a lot better, almost like he could deal with things that evening.   

Danny showed up right as Chin was dropping off the fish.

“I’ll be back later, brah!” Chin called over his shoulder as he climbed back in the Mustang and drove off.

Steve couldn’t help but think he’d made a rather hasty escape, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of Danny’s recent foul mood, or if Chin sensed that Steve wanted some time alone with Danny. Probably a bit of both, Steve suspected.

Danny at least looked a bit more well rested than he had the day before. “Need help with the fish?” He asked.

“Sure,” Steve replied, and they carried the cooler to the back lanai. “We’ll just leave it out here for now,” he said. “I’ll toss it in a quick marinade right before I throw it on the grill, don’t want to over-cook it!”

Danny smiled at Steve, and Steve’s pulse quickened. _Crap_ , he swore silently.

Fortunately, Danny was pretty good about keeping Steve on task with getting ready for company, and the time passed quickly and without further incident.

Before Steve knew it, he was staked out at the grill, apron on, feeling very much the cook, while Danny greeted everyone, made sure they had drinks, and genuinely looked happier and brighter than Steve had seen him in a good long while.

Kono put music on, got Abby to dance with her, and everyone raved about Max’s superfoods salad (Steve even asked for the recipe), and Kono’s build-your-own-sundae bar was a messy-but-wonderful hit.

Danny especially was a fan. “Can you please do this every time?” He asked. “I’ll go fishing again if it will get you to do this,” he proclaimed. Steve laughed heartily at that. For obvious reasons. Danny gave him a dirty look, but that only made Steve laugh more.

Everyone stayed late, promising to “do this again soon,” and Steve felt light and hopeful and very, very pleased.

Until they went to the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“I know what you’re doing, by the way, you big goof.”

Steve was more startled by that than he should have been. Danny was standing very, very still at the kitchen island, watching Steve put leftovers away. He tried to look puzzled. Figured it came naturally.

“Malasadas. The good coffee. My favorite chips. Extra shrimp?” Danny’s eyebrows went up impossibly far. “And don’t tell me that it was Grace’s idea to get pizza and watch Westerns, just out of nowhere.”

Steve swallowed. He was having a hard time reading Danny just now. It was possible he was really angry about Steve’s meddling. He really hoped not. But it was absolutely possible.

“And this. Special fish out of nowhere, necessitating a last minute shindig at your place? Huh?” He let out a laugh at that, but Steve couldn’t tell if it was real, or maybe just a little bitter. “Don’t tell me that was just a coincidence.”

Steve bit his lip, but smiled. “Yeah, actually, that one really was.” He said, sheepishly.

Danny’s eyebrows went even further up.

“No, really, Danny. It was. OK, I was going to do something tonight anyway, it just worked out perfectly.”

Danny smiled softly at that, and closed his eyes. He nodded, and when he opened his eyes, Steve swore they glistened in the harsh light.

“OK,” he said. And he sighed. Then he walked over to the fridge, pulled two beers out, and turned to Steve. “Leave that, babe. Come with me.”

Steve was a little bit nervous, a little bit... hopeful. He shushed his inner excitement, told it to lower its expectations. But he was still a little bit hopeful.

He was expecting Danny to walk down to the beach, to their usual chairs. But instead he stopped at the lanai. The twinkly lights were soft, and Danny’s hair looked like gold in their diffuse glow. They’d left the music on, and it was turned down, but its presence added to the still-festive atmosphere. It had been a lovely evening. Steve had really come to enjoy their gatherings like this. Loved hosting. Which still surprised him. Well. He loved hosting with Danny. He had to laugh to himself about that. How much of it was that? He wondered. Probably a whole lot more than he’d admit.

Danny sat and pushed a beer across the table to Steve. “Sit,” he said.

Steve sat. He’d rather have sat closer to Danny, but he sensed Danny’d chosen his place intentionally. With a table between them. Steve sighed. “Danny—” he started, but stopped at the narrowing of Danny’s eyes.

“I appreciate the pampering, babe. I really do. And I know it makes you feel better, feel like you can do something to help. And I know that’s important to you.”

“But?” Prompted Steve. He was a little shaken that Danny seemed to be as aware as he was, because Steve would have sworn that Danny didn’t know half that much. And he immediately felt dumb for having thought that. For not having realized that of course Danny would have seen through his every attempt.

Danny huffed out a slight laugh at that. He took a swig of his beer. “Ah, he realizes there’s a ‘but,’” he said bemusedly. Setting his beer down to rub his face in his hands, Danny sat up a little straighter. “Alright,” he began. And Steve had some weird sense of foreboding that almost made him shiver. “I think,” Danny said, slowly. “I think that maybe we’re past the ‘bring the grumpy cop donuts so he behaves better’ stage.” He looked tentatively up at Steve, and Steve almost stopped breathing. “I think,” Danny continued, “that maybe it’s time to take that next step.” Steve took a sip of his beer. Suddenly he needed it very much. “You know what I mean by that, right, babe?” Here Danny looked so open, so unguarded, Steve’s heart caught in his throat. He nodded just barely perceptibly. Because of course he knew. He’d been starting to feel it was painfully obvious that he was avoiding it, even to himself. Danny seemed to be waiting for Steve to answer. So, he swallowed, took a deep breath, and he did.

“Yeah, Danny,” he said, and his voice sounded a lot stronger than it felt, which gave him a bit of a push. “You wanna talk about it.” Steve paused. “With me.”

Danny didn’t react, it seemed like he was waiting for Steve to show his hand.

“I’d like that too, Danny,” Steve said softly, but he hoped with enough assurance that Danny would actually believe him.

Again, Danny smiled just slightly, scratched his head, and when he looked up, Steve could not read his expression. But Danny nodded, again just slightly.

“OK. So. To start. What’d you promise my daughter as her reward for being your inside agent, huh?”

Steve unfortunately had just taken a sip of beer, and it ended up half on the table, half choking him. He sputtered, but the look on Danny’s face kept him from dissembling.

“Surfing this weekend,” he replied, with a sheepish smile that might have strayed a little too close to a smirk.

Danny smiled. Some secret knowing smile that Steve didn’t know what to make of.

“OK,” he said, sounding actually really pleased.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, not sure he believed Danny’s easy acceptance.

“Yeah, babe,” he replied. “That sounds really nice. Charlie’s been wanting a day at the beach, and it’ll do me good...” he looked at Steve with what seemed like rather a lot of affection and warmth. “Which of course you already knew,” he finished, and tilted his beer bottle towards Steve. “Thanks, babe.”

Steve grinned rather hugely at that.

They sat there for a while, drinking their beers, Steve grinning probably too contentedly, Danny smiling that smile that’s half fondness, half private amusement... and eventually, Steve started to get nervous. He knew Danny had more to say. Probably a lot more. Probably way too much more. As his comfort level started to lag, he noticed Danny seemed to get more uncomfortable as well.

“Could we... should we... can I go finish cleaning up?” He finally asked.

It almost seemed like Danny had been waiting for that, and he chuckled lightly. “Yeah, of course, babe. Let’s go do that.”

Steve was puzzled. But he went with it, because he really needed to be doing something other than waiting for Danny to talk more. And then it hit him. _Shit, McGarrett, how stupid can you be, twice in one day?_ He berated himself.

He grabbed Danny’s arm to stop him, just before they went inside. “And then, will you talk with me more about this? About what I can do better to help you?”

And Danny actually reached up and kissed him. Just a soft touch of the lips. When he pulled back, he smiled. “Sure, babe.” And he walked inside and headed to the kitchen.

Steve felt like he needed a moment. Or about fourteen moments. To collect himself. To figure out how to wash dishes when he had entirely other things on his mind. Taking three deep breaths, he calmed himself down and followed his seemingly insane partner to the kitchen.

Danny’d started stacking plates in the sink to rinse before putting them in the dishwasher. “You know, babe, maybe next time we should just use paper plates.”

Steve knew he was smirking, because he loved that Danny always went so easily to “next times.”

As Danny cleared the dishes from the island, Steve started to wipe the counters down, tidying away the few remaining stray items. It didn’t take long with two doing it. Steve smiled at that, as well.

“I could really put my feet up,” Danny sighed when they’d started the dishwasher. And he walked out of the kitchen.

Steve followed him to the living room, and was slightly disappointed ( _see, I told you, expectations, shush!_ ) to see Danny’d chosen the recliner over the sofa. Steve sat down at the end closest to Danny and took a deep breath.

But he just didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what to say. And wasn’t this the whole problem? This was why he brought Danny malasadas. This was why he bribed the big man for more shrimp. And then, in a flash of insight, he knew, that was exactly the thing to say to Danny. So he did. And Danny smiled, knowingly, and if Steve wasn’t mistaken, a little bit proudly.

“I know babe. I do. And I love it, trust me. But the point is you don’t have to have anything specific to say. Really you don’t have to say anything at all. You can just come in and sit down and be with me, that’s all, really.”

Steve narrowed his eyes like he wasn’t really believing it. Danny of course interpreted that correctly.

He laughed. “OK, so it helps if you say something like, ‘crap, this week sucks, huh?’ or ‘do you need more coffee?’” And he broke off at that because Steve’s expression had turned to a glare. “OK, OK, you bring the coffee, but words with it help, babe, is my point.” He sighed and leaned back further into the chair. Steve was almost afraid he’d tip it over, which was a silly thought to have had, but he worried, OK?

“Danny,” Steve started. He wanted to get this right. Wanted to make it clear. Needed to make it clear. Needed to get it right. He took a deep breath. “I will do anything...” he swallowed. “ _Anything_. To help you. Anytime I can. That’s always been true. And if it’s more talking you want, I will work on that. But you have to help me, OK? If you help me, I can learn to do it. And I need that. I need that so much. Because I need to be able to do more for you. I need to be able to give you what you need. Because you give me what I need....” _Crap_. He was starting to cry. Dangit.

Danny got up from the chair (and, OK, that made Steve feel a lot better) and came and sat down next to Steve on the sofa.

Steve turned to face him.

Danny reached a hand up to Steve’s face, rubbed his thumb softly over Steve’s cheek, but it just smeared his tears around more than wiped them away. Steve didn’t mind in the least. He sighed into the touch, felt like new life was flowing into his skin, like he was breathing from every exposed bit of skin... it was a very strange sensation. He loved it.

And then, Danny leaned forward and kissed him again. But this time was less soft. This time was more insistent. Maybe like before he’d been holding back, and Steve thought for just a moment that he had been, that Danny’d been holding back for a long time, and Steve just hadn’t been seeing it. Resisting the urge to kick himself for not doing something about it sooner, he dove into the kiss, pulling Danny with him, further, deeper, allowing himself to get lost in it, to let go, to just trust... to trust that Danny would go with him, that Danny would be there... and that he’d know what to do, what to say, if he just trusted and listened... and asked.


	17. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theoretically, this could be Date Nights Four, Five, and Six..... But it doesn't have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For J. 
> 
> (I guess, really, you should have seen this one coming....)
> 
>  
> 
> Just a little note:  
> I did *not* intend for this to be all dialogue. At all. But that was what it wanted to be, much to my shock. I could never hope to reach the splendor and wonderfulness that is JeffreyAlan's amazing, dialogue-only [The First Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3463604), which is one of my favorite things ever. I would never even try. This is just me messing around, being silly, and tormenting J, because he deserves it. ;-)

“I can _not_ believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Oh, come on, admit it, you’re loving it.”

“Am I? Hmmm.”

“Ouch!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I saw a bug on your head.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Here, have a glass of wine.”

“Seriously?”

“What? Of course, seriously. What’s your problem?”

“Who brings wine camping? And real wine glasses? How did you even do that?”

“Navy secret.”

“Of course. Oh, that’s good. Zin?”

“Yep. There’s plenty more where that came from, so drink up.”

“Ah, trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“Maybe. Not that it’s very hard to do, mind you. Ouch! Another bug on my head?”

“Oh, good, you’re catching on.”

“I caught on ages ago, my dear.”

“Ohhh, ‘my dear’ now is it?”

“Don’t like it?”

“Mmmmm. Not sure. Not sure. Try it again?”

“My... dear....”

“Huh. Well, I definitely like it better with the kissing....”

“Of course you do.”

“But, we’ll just have to see how well it holds up.”

“Oh? What is it going to have to hold up to?”

“A weekend of camping, for starters.”

“I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve. I’m not worried.”

“This wine really _is_ good....”

“I’m glad.”

* * *

"Mmnguhh.”

“Morning to you, too.”

“Do I smell coffee?”

“Of course.”

“And yet, there’s none in my hand. Why is that?”

“Come here and get some.”

“It’s cold out.”

“You have got to be kidding me. You’re cold? _You_?”

“Yes, me, I’m cold, now shut up and hand me coffee, and I’m going back to bed. Well. Sleeping bag.”

“Uh-uh-uh. Camp rules. No food in the tent. You want coffee, you come here and you get it.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Mmphggh!”

“You OK in there?”

“Yeah, yeah, peachy.”

“Oh good.”

“OK. Now can I have coffee?”

“Oh my.”

“ _What_.”

“Are you wearing _all_ your clothes?”

“I told you I was cold.”

“Mmmm. So you did. Hmmm. Where did I put....”

“Hey, where you going? Can I have my coffee?”

“Just hang on a sec.... Ah. Here.”

“What. Is. This.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure.”

“It’s my old sailor’s cap. It will keep your head warm.”

“Huh.”

“Do you want your coffee or not?”

“Yes, please.”

“That’s better. Now, come sit here.”

“Oh? Are you going to keep me warm?”

“Would you like that?”

“Maybe.... Depends.”

“Oh, really? On what?”

“Can I drink my coffee first?”

“You are impossible, you know that?”

“Yep. And you love it.”

“Hmmm. Maybe I do.....”

“Hey, I said drink my coffee _first_....”

“You really need coffee for this?”

“I need coffee to not be a grouch. Your choice.”

“Mmmmm.....”

“OK, _that_ you can do while I drink my coffee.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Shut up and keep doing that.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thought you’d like it.”

“OK, can we go back to the tent now?”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“Um. No?”

“Don’t you want to swim in it?”

“Um. No?”

“Oh, come on, you’ll love it!”

“Yeah, I don’t think I will, honestly.”

“Trust me. You’ll love it.”

“Tell me there are no bugs in it. Hey, why are you taking _all_ your clothes off?”

“Told you you’d love it.”

“Oh my god, you are impossible.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

“Guess there’s only one choice....”

“See? I said you’d love it.”

“Mmmm. That remains to be seen.”

“Shut up and come here.”

“Oh, I see. So when you said ‘swim,’ you didn’t really mean _swim_.”

“Got a problem with that?”

“No, not really.....”

“Good. Now, shut up and come here.”

* * *

“I think... seriously... that was the best meal I’ve ever had. Wow. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Um. Because we’re camping, and you cooked it over a _fire_. And I’m pretty sure there were bugs in it. And we ate it off metal plates with weird silverware with holes in it. Although, the wine was really nice.”

“Food always tastes better outdoors. Haven’t you ever noticed that before?”

“Well, hot dogs taste better at the ballpark, does that count?”

“What about when I grill fish at home?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really count, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t.”

“What about the time I grilled steaks on the beach?”

“Do _not_ go there with me right now.”

“What? Why? I thought you loved it!”

“Yeah, well. That was before I had a little chat with a certain naval intelligence officer about your... techniques.”

“Please tell me you didn't talk to Catherine about that.”

“She had some really interesting things to tell me. She’s a fascinating source of information.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Exactly.”

“So, tell me more about how you enjoyed dinner, please.”

“Trying to change the topic?”

“Dear god, yes.”

“Well, I’ve never had mashed potatoes camping before. Actually, that’s probably not true. I’m sure I’ve had freeze dried mashed potatoes camping. And freeze dried beef. But never fresh, homemade. It was quite remarkable, actually.”

“Thank you.”

“You look rather flushed.”

“Do I? Must be the glow of the camp fire.”

“Ha! You are hilarious.”

“Thank you.”

“So, what’s for dessert?”

“Ah. Thought you’d never ask.”

“It’s only ever a matter of time.”

“Well, that’s true of everything with you.”

“Do you even know what you mean by that?”

“Not really, but it sounded good.”

“You know. It’s possible you’ve been hanging out with me too much.....”

“Never.”

“Oh, wow. You are cheesy.”

“And you love it.”

“I do like cheese, that is true. So, where’s my dessert?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Really? You’re going there right now?”

“Seemed appropriate. OK, eyes are closed.”

“Now, open your mouth.”

“That never ends well, babe, I’m just saying.”

“ _Trust me_.”

“OK, but there better be chocolate involved for this level of trust.”

“Oh, _there’s chocolate involved_.”

“Mmmmm, what _is_ that? It’s like heaven in my mouth.”

“That comes later.”

“You did not—Mmmph! Oh, god, that is so good!”

“That comes later, too. This is just dessert.”

“Let me guess, it’s a Navy secret?”

“Something like that.”

“And, the part that comes later, is that a Navy secret too?”

“Oh, you are awful.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

“You really want to know? Follow me.....”

“As long as you bring the rest of that chocolate whatever-it-is, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Oh, wow, _anywhere_?”

“Shut up and give me more chocolate.”

“Wherever you say, my dear.”

“Still not sure about that one.”

“But you’ll be sure about this.....”

* * *

“I still don’t understand why I can’t have my coffee first.”

“Because there has to be a reward.”

“Well, that’s true of everything with you.... What? It’s true!”

“Because you wouldn’t come hiking otherwise.”

“Well, can you blame me? This is supposed to be a relaxing weekend, and you’re making me work. You know. We have this awful habit of finding corpses when we go ‘hiking,’ I’d just like to remind you of that.”

“There won’t be any corpses, and there will be coffee, and a lovely view. I promise.”

“Babe, if there is one thing you should never promise me it’s that there won’t be any corpses. That’s just not good odds.”

“Well, good thing I’m not a betting man, then.”

“You know, I think your logic is flawed.”

“How so?”

“If you gave me coffee first, I’d be in a much better mood.”

“Yeah, but then you’d talk your way out of the hike.”

“Oh, so talking my way out of things actually works on you? That’s nice to know.”

“You talk yourself out of stuff all the time, what are you talking about?”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s because you do it all the time. Probably without even meaning to. Or being aware of it.”

“Well, I am very aware of this.”

“We’re almost there.”

“I’m pretty sure you said that an hour ago.”

“We haven’t even been walking for _half_ an hour.”

“How can _I_ tell? I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Oh my god, you are impossible.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation already—Oh, wow!”

“See? Told you. Nice view, right?”

“Yeah, and not a corpse in sight, which makes it so much nicer.”

“Such the romantic.”

“I’ll give you romance if you give me coffee.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“You can have it in blood if you’ll just give me coffee.”

“I’ll have to remember this.”

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.....”

* * *

“I think I’m going to shower for three hours.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have dirt in places dirt should _not_ be.”

“I’ll help.”

“Oh, really? So that’s the kind of shower this is going to be?”

“Maybe....”

“That doesn’t usually make for a short shower, is all.”

“I think this time I won’t mind that.”

“Oh, you won’t mind? That’s so nice to hear. You won’t mind being all naked and wet with me. You’re so sweet.”

“And soapy, don’t forget soapy.”

“You—Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah? You like that?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Thanks for going camping with me.”

“Oh god, you’re going to use this to get me to agree to go camping again, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

“I’ll let you know.....”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, it’s been too too too long! This is just some comfort writing I did this morning, it is utterly unedited, just as it came out, rough and rusty and there are mistakes, but I just needed to get it out, and it made me feel better, and I know there are a few of you who comfort read TBM, so maybe it’ll bring some cozy comfort to you as well.

Danny sighed heavily as he melted into the sofa, grateful at last to be home, clean, and mostly intact. He’d made himself a pot of coffee, even though he really didn’t need the caffeine, he was desperate for a hot drink to soothe and calm him. And he figured he was not going to sleep that night anyway—what was left of it—so it didn’t really matter. Not much mattered to Danny right now. He was alive. They all were alive. Well. Several people were no longer living. But they only had themselves to blame. Themselves and their stupidity. But Danny’d already worn himself out yelling at them about that right before they all stupidly chose to die anyway rather than  give themselves up to the authorities. He choked out a sob before he realized it. Someone once told him that still caring was a good thing, and being upset meant he still cared. Frankly he wouldn’t have minded not caring just tonight because he was freaking exhausted from it.

His stomach growled. He ignored it. Glaring in the direction of the fake Christmas tree, the lights of which he refused to turn on when the kids were not over, he felt his stomach turn, then sink. God he missed home. He missed the warmth of family. The glow of the twinkly lights on a tree that smelled like pine, not chemicals. The fire in the fireplace. Candles on the mantle. The way the curtains glowed from the lights on the shrubs outside. The smell of cookies baking, food in crockpots simmering all day, mulled cider, mulled wine, mulled anything. He felt angry about it, not sad, so it surprised him when he felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. It was just because he was so tired, so drained, and had been for so long... add to that the day—geez, no the week—they’d had... and it was no wonder he was crying. Still, it just made him more upset, which wasn’t helping, he knew. But it kind of felt good in a weird way. He’d been trying so hard, for the kids, especially for Charlie, but also for Grace, who’d been acting out more and more in that awful teenage way, and Danny’d been dealing with it by going even more over the top with holiday things. Really what he wanted was to take them all home. But Rachel had plans for a resort on Maui the day after Christmas, and Danny just didn’t have it in him to fight her over it. He’d kind of stopped fighting her over anything because it upset Charlie so much.

Danny kicked his feet up on the coffee table, cuddled his mug closer to his chest, and slunk further into the sofa. The tears had reached that just kind of flowing like a leaky faucet stage, and he didn’t even bother wiping them away.

Then the doorbell rang, and he seriously considered not answering it. I mean, who could be here at this hour, then his adrenalin kicked in, because it couldn’t be anything good, and he had nothing left in his reserves at this point, oh, god, nothing. He didn’t even know for sure where his gun was. He closed his eyes and swore to himself that if he was about to die because he’d been too tired to remember where he’d left his gun he would never forgive himself. He set his coffee carefully down on the coffee table and slowly got up. The doorbell rang again, and then he heard a key in the lock and the knob turning. He just kind of froze, half in horror, half in anger, and in slow motion, as the door opened, he allowed the realization that it was probably be the one person he really did not want to see right now... the one person other than his kids who had a key. Kicking himself for that momentary lapse in judgment (it had been the only way to get Steve to give him a key, which was something he refused to live without given his partner’s infuriating tendency to a) leave the country with no notice and barely a note, b) not answer his phone or his door, c) do stupid things like get himself kidnapped by serial killers, d) oh the list goes on and you know it anyway. Turning his back to the door, wiping the tears from his face, and attempting and most likely failing to plaster some look of neutrality over the anger and exhaustion and abject fear that was etched in his features, Danny made a very weak attempt at pulling himself together for whatever was about to happen.

“Hey, babe,” he managed, as Steve stumbled through the door, arms laden with bags. He felt his eyes narrow in suspicion, but refrained from commenting, simply because he was quite honestly lost for words at the moment. He watched Steve look him up and down, note the tree lights were not on, and head for the kitchen without saying a word.

Danny stood, puzzled, for a long moment, head tilting sideways as though trying to understand, went to close the door, then followed Steve’s path to the kitchen.

By the time he got there, Steve already had food on the stove. Bacon was sizzling, and Danny’s stomach jumped in excitement. Eggs were being beaten with what seemed to Danny like a lot more aggression than was required for a fluffy omelet. Before he could comment, onions and peppers began being assaulted in a similarly violent way. Really, they didn’t need to be diced quite that tiny. Steve threw a bag of bread at Danny, wordlessly, and nodded in the direction of the toaster.

That almost made Danny smile. He obligingly put four pieces of toast in, closed the bag back up, and poured a mug of coffee for Steve, a fresh one for himself, adding a good dose of whiskey to both mugs, some cream to his own, and took a sip, finding he was now fighting the smile, as he watched an evidently angry Steve make an omelet in his kitchen in the middle of the night.

Once the veggies were sautéed, and the eggs in the pan, Steve stilled, looked Danny in the eye, took a sip of his coffee, and stood, facing him, as though he were waiting for an explanation.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny whispered, as the toast popped up. He ignored it. So did Steve, who was giving him a look that clearly indicated that was not enough. He knew his eyes had to be red, and even if they weren’t, Steve would know he’d been crying. Somehow, at some point in their years working together, Steve had developed some sort of super power about knowing when Danny was crying. Actually, now he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Steve had shown up, should have expected it as soon as the tears had begun to fall. That had been something that had happened before. But not for a long time.

Taking a slow breath and deciding, maybe just because he was too tired, too raw, to do anything else, he just asked: “Why are you here?”

Evidently sensing the train of thought Danny’d just followed, Steve softened. “Because I knew you wouldn’t eat.”

Danny let out a small laugh before he could help himself.

Steve shook his head, and a hint of a smile formed on his lips. “I needed to eat anyway, figured I may as well do it here.” He looked like he was about to say more, but stopped himself, and turned back to the food on the stove. When he turned back, he had the bacon on a plate with paper towels, which he put in the middle of the counter, then passed Danny an empty plate and a stick of butter. Reaching into one of the bags on the floor, he produced a jar of grape jelly, which he set softly on the counter next to the bacon. “Be right back, then we can eat,” he said as he headed out of the kitchen.

Danny took the toast out of the toaster, buttered all the slices with more butter than he usually would have, opened the grape jelly and added some to two of the slices, cut them all into triangles, and took a bite of one of the jelly coated ones, unable to prevent the smile that came when the taste hit his tongue. Grape jelly always did that to him. The fact that Steve knew that kind of made Danny’s heart glow a little. Debating if he had enough time to sneak a piece of bacon, Danny started to reach for one when Steve reemerged from wherever he’d gone. Danny dropped the strip back on the plate, but not before Steve waved his hand away.

“Could you please be civilized and wait for us to sit down?” But his tone was warm, and there was something in it that felt familiar but a little bit dusty. Before he could think what it might be, Steve was plating the omelets, grabbing silverware and napkins, and motioning for Danny to bring the toast and bacon. “I’ll come back for the coffee,” he threw over his shoulder as he headed out to the living room.

Danny gasped when he saw the tree was lit, and there were candles on the coffee table, flickering. There was even Christmas music playing from a small portable speaker on the side table. The tears that had stopped with the shock from Steve’s sudden arrival started again, and he was suddenly afraid he’d drop the bacon and toast, and grape jelly is not fun to get out of beige carpet, as any parent knows. Fortunately, Steve seemed to have anticipated his reaction, and was there in a flash to take both plates from him. Danny still hadn’t moved, and Steve came back a third time to steer his overly emotional partner to the sofa. He added one triangle of toast and two strips of bacon to Danny’s plate, handed him a napkin and fork, then went back for the coffee. By the time he came back and sat down, Danny’d wiped the tears away with his napkin. Steve looked at him as he set the mugs on the table, and smiled, just barely. Seeming satisfied, Steve picked up his own plate and began to eat.

They sat in silence, eating, listening to the music, feeling warmed by the candle light and whiskey, feeling brightened by the sparkling tree, comforted by each other’s presence. Steve had left a good space between them when he sat down, but after Danny finished eating, he got up to get more coffee, and when he came back, Steve had also finished, and had moved closer to the middle of the sofa, so that when Danny sat down, he didn’t need to sit too far from where he’d already been to be right up next to Steve. Handing Steve his refilled mug, Danny sat back, tucking his feet beneath him, and leaning back, tentatively, against Steve, who did a not-very-subtle arm around the back of the sofa thing, and let Danny rest solidly against his shoulder.

“Thanks, babe,” Danny whispered.

In response, Steve kicked his shoes off, and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Sure thing, Danno,” he said, sipping from his mug.

Somehow, the fake tree didn’t bother him so much with Steve there. And the candles were on the table, not a decorated mantle. And the music wasn’t what his mom would have played, and there was no crackling of the fire, no smell of smoke, of pine, of baking.... But there was a lingering smell of bacon, and toast, and onions, and coffee and whiskey wasn’t mulled, but it was warming and comforting, and so was, if he admitted it, Steve’s solid presence at his side. His heart still hurt, and he was pretty sure there were more tears on the way. But it made it all a whole lot easier to know Steve had known what he needed, and had given that to him, freely, openly, and, Danny saw with sudden clarity—with his whole heart.


	19. Date Night: Surfing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not in the same timeline as any of the other Date Night stories. Just a little beachy fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more briefly edited fluffy writing... an attempt at distracting J, who has been working too hard and been stressed out for too long.....

Danny was deeply embroiled with some paperwork. And, yes, that’s possible. He had started to get a headache about an hour ago, and was trying to fight through it to just finish the dang thing so he could be done and go home and begin to unwind from the crazy and exhausting week they’d had.

So, when Steve walked into his office without knocking, without pausing strode over to Danny, shut his laptop, pulled Danny up using a surprising amount of force, and dragged him out of the office, into the new truck, all without saying a word, Danny found himself simply unable, or maybe actually unwilling, to say anything in protest.

Once it was clear where they were headed, Danny kind of slid down in his seat and felt the need to point out they’d have to go back to the office over the weekend to finish the paperwork.

Steve spared him one look—a glare—and then turned back to the road in front of them.

“Alright,” Danny replied, giving that nod he often used when Steve was being utterly predictable. Truth was, he was grateful to his kidnapper. He was probably making huge mistakes in the work anyway, which would only have to be re-done, and when you’re that sloppy, why waste the time—he knew from experience that fixing his mistakes often took longer than just writing them fresh.

Fresh... that was something Danny could really use right about now.

When they got to the house, Steve went first to the side and grabbed both their surfboards (Danny’d taken to leaving his at Steve’s because frankly, he didn’t ever go surfing except with Steve, and it was easier to put the boards in the truck than to try to tie one on top of the Camaro—though it was possible, and looked, if Danny said so himself, really kind of hot). Steve then went to the kitchen, grabbed a beer, opened it, and pressed it firmly into Danny’s hand. Holding Danny’s eyes with his own for a good long minute, Steve seemed to be attempting wordless communication, which, actually, Danny had to admit, they’d been doing a lot of lately. He nodded, and walked towards the sofa, kicking his shoes off along the way, and sinking gratefully down into the soft, familiar leather.

Meanwhile, Steve went upstairs to get suits and towels, and evidently do something else, as it took him a while, not that Danny minded. If they were going surfing, Danny was going to need to find some energy he didn’t currently have. The beer was helping his headache, but it wasn’t helping his... vibrancy. While he was sitting there, realizing he was probably hungry—had they even had lunch? He knew he’d skipped breakfast. Well. Five coco puffs didn’t really count as breakfast (his inner Steve had kind of taken over lately). At any rate, he’d realized he was famished just about as the doorbell rang. So, he was less surprised than he otherwise would have been to see the sandwich delivery guy standing there. Just managing to hold himself back from kissing the poor guy who was already a little in shock from Danny’s exuberant reaction to the sandwiches, Danny closed the door as he was opening his sandwich, and had taken a bite before he’d sat back down.

By the time Steve reemerged with a shocking amount of stuff for a simple trip to the beach, Danny’d finished half his sandwich and had started thinking about eating some of Steve’s.

“Didja save me any, buddy?” Steve asked around a smile that was amused, pleased, and something else that looked a lot like longing.

Knowing his head wasn’t on right, Danny dismissed the thought, and held up the un-opened sandwich. Steve set the bags down and walked over to sit next to Danny on the sofa. He moaned probably a bit too loudly as he took his first bite, and Danny felt little shivers up his spine.

“So, what’s with all the stuff?” Danny asked, distracting himself from that strange little moment.

“Just the necessities,” Steve replied, around a mouthful of sandwich.

Danny started to say “That’s disgusting, you Neanderthal,” but stopped himself, and went with a drawn out “Okaaaay....” Which Steve ignored, or possibly didn’t even hear, over the embarrassingly loud eating sounds coming from his mouth.

When they’d finished, Steve tossed a stack of clothes at Danny. Danny might have also taken to leaving some clothes at Steve’s house. Well, it was just easier. They ended up doing late night pizza and beer after far too many soul-sucking cases, and Danny’d slept on that sofa, and even in the guest room bed a terrifying number of times before Steve had gotten him a set of sweats and even actual honest to goodness pajamas (in a completely ridiculous pineapple print) and left them in the dresser. A pale blue tooth brush had appeared at the same time, and Danny’d smiled at the thought that had gone into the selection of those items. Since then, he’d added to the collection with some of his own clothes, a spare razor, and even some of his favorite shampoo and body wash.

When Danny came back down, trunks on under a thin and tight pale blue tee and a navy hoodie on top, Steve had packed the rest of the gear in the truck, and was just finishing loading a cooler chest. There was a flash of something approving in his glance when he looked up, and Danny thought, not for the first time, that Steve had at some point developed an association between Danny and the color pale blue. Grabbing a bottle of water off the counter, Danny slid his feet into the flip flops Steve had put out (his work shoes seemed to have vanished—they tended to do that lately), and, grabbing his keys and phone, headed to the door.

“Aren’t you going to help me with this?” Steve called after him.

If Danny had slid into lax surfer mode, Steve only had himself to blame. “Naw, babe,” Danny tossed the reply lazily over his shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got it all under control.”

After a good bit of driving, Steve pulled the car up at a secluded spot Danny would never have imagined led to a beach. At a guess, it was a private spot, a notion proved accurate when Steve took a key out and unlocked a hidden gate.

“The surfing’s not as good,” Steve began, by way of explanation. “But it makes up for it in other ways,” he concluded somewhat enigmatically.

Musing briefly that he’d been spending too much time letting Steve pamper him, because he didn’t even bother trying to work that one out, Danny helped with the bags and followed Steve down the path through a tunnel of trees, and out to a small but lovely patch of sand that felt utterly, completely, magically, wonderfully, cut off from the whole of civilization.

Not that Oahu was an especially densely packed island, compared to the island Danny was more familiar with, but it continued to surprise him, even after the years he’d lived here, how many places like this there still were. Even Waikiki, for all its deserved fame, was quiet if you knew when to go. They spent too much time dealing with too many of the awful aspects of island life. Finding the peace that it could bring.... What was it Danny had wanted? Freshness? Yeah. This was exactly that. He found himself a little choked up, turning to Steve to say thank you, and saw that Steve had followed his entire train of thought, and was grinning—not quite a smirk, but close—in response.

“Not bad, eh?” Steve whispered, slapping Danny on the shoulder, as he headed back to the truck for the boards.

“Yeah, babe,” Danny sighed, as he set his bags down in the warm sand. “Not bad at all.”

Steve returned with the boards in a very short time, and insisted on surfing before setting up “camp.” Danny pressed his lips together to avoid making a sassy comment about the dangers of “camping” with a Navy SEAL, and followed Steve out to the admittedly soft and gentle waves, which nonetheless provided that energizing, refreshing, soothing aspect of surfing that Danny had come to actually really depend on.

They were both really quite drained from the week, and that sandwich had been good, but it had been all they’d eaten all day, so it wasn’t too long before they headed back to land, rinsed off in the rather quite nice shower area, and set about unpacking all the many things Steve had brought along.

Steve handed Danny the tent bag with a look somewhere between apprehensive and trusting. “Think you can manage without Grace to help you?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you very much, I am perfectly capable of setting up a tent.” Danny replied, with a bit more bravado than he felt.

Steve smiled, and set about building the fire. Danny certainly felt better about letting Steve handle that aspect, and he actually managed to get the tent up without hurting himself too badly—either physically, or his pride.

By the time he’d got the rather luxurious air mattresses, sleeping bags, and even a strand of battery operated twinkly lights set up, the tent felt more like a fort like he used to make for Grace than a place for two grown men to sleep on a surfing camp out. He was just stepping back to admire his handy work when he smelled the food and realized that he was starving again. Settling into his chair by the fire, he sighed contentedly and tried to guess what Steve was making for dinner.

He’d guessed “lemon butter shrimp” at just about the same time Steve pulled the foil packets off the fire and emptied them into bowls over hot steaming rice, handing Danny his and a bottle of water, and setting out a stack of small, plastic, lidded cups.

Breathing in the rich smell of one of his favorite Hawaiian dishes, Danny spared a curious glance for the suspicious stack. “Gonna let me in on that, babe?” He asked.

“Dessert,” was all Steve would say.

Danny thought about pressing it, but the shrimp was calling his name, and he soon forgot all about the strange items, and they fell into easy conversation about surfing, and camping, and the smell of camp fires, and how eating outside was always so much more restorative, and how well they’d sleep that night.

“Thanks for this, babe. I really needed it.”

“I know, Danny. I’m sorry I couldn’t manage it sooner—the past several weeks have just been too much, for all of us.” He sighed a bit dramatically for Steve, and looked over at Danny with a smile that seemed a bit sad. “You really need to go easier on yourself, you know. You’re doing a great job. With Grace, with Charlie, with work. Everything. But you have to relax a bit more. And I know better. I know you’re not good at that. So, this is me, promising to do better.” And he took Danny’s empty bowl from him, set his down as well, and picked up the stack of plastic cups, handing half to Danny.

Danny was starting to think he knew what they were, and he was frankly surprised.

Steve anticipated Danny’s reluctance. “Eric‘s idea,” he started.

“Seriously, Steven? You’re taking suggestions from my crazy nephew?”

“On this, yes. You need to relax. That kid’s about as relaxed as you get. I figure it’s worth a shot.”

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny.”

“Come on, Danny. Let’s just... let’s just see, alright?”

Turned out the Jello shots were pineapple flavored, and while Danny wasn’t altogether sure there actually was pineapple Jello, he had to admit, Steve had used the good rum, and they weren’t half bad.

“Just don’t give me vodka gummy bears next, alright?”

“How do you even know about those?” Steve asked, the rum hitting him seemingly a bit hard by that point.

“More to the point,” Danny said, kicking Steve’s bare feet with his own as he stretched more comfortably in his camp chair, “how do _you_?”

“Eric,” Steve admitted, then started laughing, and tangled his feet up with Danny’s in a playful way.

It briefly crossed Danny’s mind that they could easily be in trouble, out here, so secluded, alone, in a completely private place, under the glorious stars, the sound of the surf giving that feeling of isolation and contentment that it so often did... getting rather buzzed on freaking Jello shots. Yeah, they could easily be in trouble.

His thoughts seemed to have transferred once more to Steve, because when Danny met his eyes, they were heated, and that look of longing Danny thought he’d spotted back at the house had intensified.

“Steven,” Danny said, tone slightly warning, though through the haze of rum and pineapple, it was probably either muted or just slightly ridiculous.

“Yes, Daniel,” Steve replied, tone mockingly serious.

“This could be dangerous....”

“I kind of think that’s the point.”

And on that suddenly serious note, Steve stood—utterly solid on his feet, Danny was surprised to see, took Danny by the hand, and led him to the tent.

“You did a great job setting up the tent,” Steve observed, standing in front of it, admiring the set up. “There’s just one change I’d make.”

Danny felt his heart racing. He was pretty sure he knew what Steve was about to say.

“And that is?” He managed to ask, his throat dry, palms sweating.

Steve answered by opening the tent, crawling inside, and unzipping both bags, pushing the mattresses closer together, and putting one sleeping bag on the bottom, laying the other on top like a quilt.

He then sat down, looked out at Danny, his eyes shining, questioning... inviting.

Danny paused for a long moment, took a very slow, deep breath, and ducked inside the tent, sinking to the mattress next to Steve.

As soon as Steve’s arms came around him, Danny’s remaining reluctance melted away, and by the time their lips met, he was admitting that this had been too, too long in coming. As the vestiges of tension in Danny’s body dissolved into the kisses, he slowly began to wonder how much of how hard the past weeks had been might have been tangled up in the mounting sexual tension between them. Danny’d been staying at Steve’s an awful lot. They’d had most of their meals together, spent most of their free time together.... And looking back at it now, Danny was pretty sure that resisting this, without even realizing it, had been making a huge impact on both of them. As Steve’s hands reached lower, Danny had to admit that probably Steve had been giving him signs for a while now, and he’d been... what? So caught up in his stupid drama? Burying his insecurity with stress? Avoiding facing what he knew he wanted, knew they both wanted, because it was utterly terrifying, totally inescapable, and far too powerful for them to be able to pull back from once they began. So, yeah, probably the Jello shots, as ridiculous as that sounded, probably they had been necessary. As he tasted the pineapple flavor on Steve’s tongue, he had to stop himself from laughing at the thought that it maybe had a double benefit.

All thoughts after that flew out the mesh ceiling of the tent, as they finally, blissfully, wonderfully gave in to what essentially amounted to weeks if not months worth of mounting tension and resistance.

Some things, though, really are worth the wait.

When Danny woke in the morning, to the smell of camp fire, coffee, salt, and plumeria, he could hardly believe his luck. He was just starting to sit up, a huge smile plastered on his face, when Steve crawled back in their makeshift bed, a thermos and two mugs in his hands.

“Coffee in bed?” Danny gasped in delight. “Oh, babe. You are setting yourself up for some high standards here.” He leaned forward into a sloppy, easy, far too comfortable for only their first morning, kiss.

When they pulled back, Steve was visibly fighting a smirk. “I think I’m up for it,” he said, breathily.

Danny couldn’t help the waggle of his eyebrows, though he laughed immediately after. “Promises, promises,” he said, tauntingly, as he held out his hand for his coffee. “Coffee first, though.”

Steve spit out a laugh, but obliged. “Of course,” he replied, attempting a straight face. “And would monsieur prefer pancakes or eggs this fine morning?”

“Monsieur would prefer _you_ ,” Danny said, putting his coffee carefully down, and pulling Steve towards him. “And then pancakes,” he added, before kissing Steve.

“And then more surfing?” Steve asked, softly, as he settled against Danny with a smile.

Danny was basking in the salty glow of sea air, sex, and coffee, and deciding that was his new favorite combination, and he probably would have agreed to just about anything this wonderful man asked for in that moment.

“Yeah, babe,” he said, “more surfing. Absolutely.”


	20. Napping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some quick and silly comfort fluff I needed today..... Hoping to do some more catching up with episodes and writing post-episodes/codas soon!

Danny’d been dealing with a sick kiddo for the past four days. Rachel had taken Grace on a mother-daughter retreat with some group or another or some such thing—to be honest, Danny hadn’t really listened when she’d explained it. He’d been stuck on “Can you take Charlie for four days?” His heart had soared so high that it hadn’t actually crashed all the way when she’d then added: “He’s been sick, so you’ll have to stay home with him.”

It wasn’t that Danny didn’t have experience with taking care of sick children. He’d been the older brother, so he’d been roped into “Mother’s helper” duty as a kid more times than he could count, and he’d done his fair share of taking care of Grace when she had a cold or was teething or whatever. But it had been a very long time since he’d been involved with the longer-than-a-day-or-two care of a sick kiddo, and he'd forgotten just how draining it was. Or was it... oh, god, was it because he was getting older?

That thought occurred to him when Stan came to pick Charlie up once Rachel and Grace had arrived back home. Stan tried, but didn’t quite succeed in hiding his grin at Danny’s disheveled appearance when he answered the door. Charlie had somewhat revived by that point, and walked on his own power out to the car while Danny was still gathering his things and tossing them unceremoniously into a laundry basket with the explanation that he’d somehow lost Charlie’s bag—he suspected he’d thrown it in the washing machine at some point, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Stan waved off the explanation with evident pity for the exhausted father.

“Thanks, Danny,” he said as he grappled with the over-full basket.

Danny grunted in return, prompting some fatherly advice from Stan: “You should get some rest, you look like you could use it.”

“Thanks,” Danny muttered. Once he’d closed the door, he added something less polite, then headed for the shower while he could still stand.

He couldn’t have been asleep longer than five minutes when his phone rang.

“Hey, Danno, you up for doing something?”

Steve knew all about what Danny’d been going through these past few days. They all did. Chin and Sarah had brought them some of Sarah’s favorite sick-time foods and drinks for Charlie. Steve had gone shopping for Danny not once but three times. And Kono and Adam had brought a meal for Danny once a day so he at least got some good food for himself. Lou had called with unsolicited advice on how to deal with sick children which had gone in one ear and out the other. Jerry and the others had wisely stayed out of it.

Danny had promised Steve he’d do something with him once Charlie was back home, but he had not anticipated just how drained he’d be by then. He groaned in response to Steve’s chipper query.

“You sick now?” Steve asked, sounding kind of oddly excited.

“No, I’m fine. Just exhausted,” Danny replied sleepily. “Wanna come over and nap?” He joked.

“Be right there,” Steve responded, far far far too eagerly, hanging up before Danny could sputter “ _What?!_ ”

As much as he was, frankly, in shock over that thought, his head refused to stay upright, and his eyes refused to stay open, and before he knew it he was asleep again, so it felt like just moments before the bed was dipping and a fresh smelling, scruffy, and still-damp Steve was freaking cuddling up next to him.

More than half asleep, Danny did manage a weak “What the actual fuck Steven?” before he succumbed to the pull of sleep once again.

At some point, Danny woke just slightly, noticed Steve was still there, even closer to him than he’d been at first, and evidently sleeping as well. Shaking his head slightly, he rolled his eyes, sighed, and fell back asleep.

The next time Danny awoke, it was to find Steve watching him. Still in bed next to him, a bit further away though, and Danny felt the loss of contact somewhere deep in his gut. That seemed strange to him, and then it seemed strange that it had seemed strange. Of course it had been nice to have some contact that wasn’t small, sick, child contact. It felt... comforting. He must have shown some of his thought process on his face, because suddenly Steve looked concerned.

“You okay, buddy?” He asked, softly. It looked as though he’d had to stop himself from reaching out for Danny as he said it.

“I’m fine,” Danny replied, on a yawn.

“You don’t look fine.” Steve didn’t actually smile, but it was a near thing.

“Then stop looking,” Danny huffed, turning over to face away from Steve, and thinking he must really be drained from his time caring for Charlie, because he sure sounded a lot more peevish than he’d thought he felt.

As soon as he was settled on his side, Steve slid up behind him, wrapping his arm over Danny, and holding it there tightly.

Danny sighed deeply but didn’t fight it. Because. Well. _It felt really nice, okay?_

“Okay, Danny,” Steve whispered in his ear, and he almost startled before he realized that Steve hadn’t actually been replying to his thought, but to what he’d said about not looking. Still. It took a while for his heart to slow back down, and even longer for him to begin to fall back asleep.

Truth be told, by that point he really wasn’t even all that tired anymore. Not sleepy tired, at any rate. He still felt drained, though. And for whatever stupid and weird reason, being held by Steve was really helping. _Better not think too much about that_ , he told himself, as he finally drifted back off.

His stomach awoke before he did. It must have woken Steve even sooner, because by the time Danny’d roused himself enough to sit up, he saw Steve walking into the room, carrying the tray he’d been using for Charlie. On it was a sandwich from his favorite deli, and two bottles of beer.

It was probably just the stuffy room, but Danny was pretty sure he blushed.

“You should eat,” Steve said, setting the tray down over Danny’s lap, grabbing his own beer, and sitting on the edge of the bed, just a little too far away for Danny’s liking. _Uh, I mean_.... Yeah, okay, too far away for his liking. _Crap, what was coming over him? He must be getting sick_......

“Thanks, babe, I really appreciate this,” Danny managed, taking a bite of the sandwich.

Steve smiled behind his beer, and Danny was beginning to worry he might have a fever, because he thought he’d seen some kind of glint in those hazel eyes. Must be the lack of sleep and food, he scolded himself.

They sat mostly in silence as Danny ate, Steve watching him thoughtfully, and Danny trying to pretend it didn’t bother him.

When he finished, Steve got up, took the tray without a word, walked out of the room with it, leaving Danny a moment to wonder what the hell had just happened.

He hadn’t gotten past _how the fuck should I know_ before Steve reappeared, with two peppermint patties, and climbed back in bed next to Danny, closer this time, which calmed Danny down instantly. _Um, well_.... Oh, fuck it. _Yeah, it calmed him down_.

“What do you want to do now?” Steve asked, mouth full of chocolate and mint.

All Danny could think was that if he didn’t get more cuddles from Steve he might go insane. But he wasn’t exactly about to admit that. _But... well, he could pretend to still be sleepy.... Even though he wasn’t...._

Steve saved him from his looming insanity. “Maybe you should rest some more,” he said as he scooted down so he was flat on his back. Swinging his arms wide, he cooed: “Come on, Danny,” and waited.

Hesitating only for a moment, Danny slid down inside the embrace of his partner’s strong arms. Shoving aside his doubts and thoughts and feelings, he allowed himself to simply take the comfort that continued to refill him.

“Thanks, babe,” he said on a sigh, as he turned further into Steve, letting his arm come to rest around Steve’s broad chest, his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Any time, Danny,” Steve replied, sounding oddly like he meant it.

“Huh,” Danny heard himself mutter, though he hadn’t intended on commenting on his observation.

“What’s ‘huh,’ Danny?” Steve asked softly, his breath tickling Danny’s head.

“Oh,” he said, as his hand, against his will, played with the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Just seemed like you meant that....” He trailed off, suddenly anxious about how Steve might answer.

“Of course I do, Danny,” Steve replied, without hesitation. Then he pulled Danny in closer, and to Danny’s astonishment, kissed the top of his head.

Danny’s lips pressed together to contain his reaction, which would have probably been a gasp. He swallowed hard, fidgeted just a little, and settled even further down in the bed, finding he fit nicely at Steve’s side... and finding that seemed just about perfect... and not nearly as surprising as it should have.

“Okay,” he said, after a good few moments.

He could feel the grin forming on his partner’s face. “Good,” Steve eventually replied.

“Yeah,” Danny whispered. “Good.”


	21. Pineapple Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny’s been ridiculously busy and stressed, and keeps putting Steve off when he asks Danny to do something with him (like surf, go out for beers).... So Steve takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something a little light after the past few chapters of BYS.... :-)

Steve waited until he knew Danny was gone. Maybe it would piss Danny off, to know Steve had him under surveillance, maybe he’d kick himself for not noticing. Steve just smirked as he thought how that conversation might go... “Danny, you’ve heard of Navy SEALs, right?” _Heh, heh, heh_. When he was confident the coast was clear, he pulled in the drive, unloaded the bags he’d stashed in the back seat of the truck, and... well, picked the lock. (What can I say, it seemed like a skill he really should add to his repertoire, and ever since that little Yakuza incident on Lanai, he’d been practicing.) Letting himself into Danny’s, he made a mental note to harass his partner about getting some better security. For all Danny gave Steve a hard time about his lack of proactive protection measures, his own were pretty abysmal.

“Let’s see... food first,” Steve murmured to himself as he lugged the groceries to the kitchen. Once the food was put away (he might have cleaned out some suspicious leftover containers while he was at it, and maybe checked the dates on some things as well, just to be safe), he set about the first part of his plan.

The house was even worse than he’d feared, but he knew he had time before Danny would be back, and he came prepared, so before too long, the floors were vacuumed, the surfaces dusted, even the windows were washed (vinegar and newspaper, the only real way to clean windows, thank you), and he was on his third load of laundry (the kids’ beds and towels first, then Danny’s).

Taking a break for some lunch, Steve kicked back on the sofa with a beer and a sandwich and scrolled through Danny’s DVR. That gave him the information he needed for part three of his plan, and by the time he got up, he was well and truly smirking.

Right. Next phase. He went around the house finding all the burnt out candles and replacing them with new, then found some vases in a cupboard in the kitchen and put fresh flowers on the coffee table, the dining room table, and the kitchen island. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed two bud vases (trying not to think too hard about why it was that Danny had such lovely and delicate bud vases) and picked two roses from the larger bouquets, put one in each vase, and put one on the table by Danny’s bed, one on the bathroom counter. (There were already candles in both those locations.) He set a timer for about twenty minutes before he expected Danny home, so he’d remember to light the candles in time.

Now, the food.

Pulling up the recipes on his phone, Steve set to work. He’d had to ask Mary for Aunt Deb’s copies of their grandmother’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy recipes, but he knew he’d made her signature meal many times with his dad, and once he got into it, the memories started flooding back. _Funny how food could do that_ , he thought, as he put the meatloaf in the oven. Then he set about assembling the pie. He’d made the crust dough and pre-cooked the filling at home so it would come together more easily, all he had to do was get the crust as right as he could. His fingers fumbled with the lattice work, and he spared a moment to wish his sister was there—she’d always been the best at getting the tricky weaving to work. But when he finished, he was rather pleased with himself, and sent her a photo of his handy work. She sent back a smile and “Good luck! XO.”

With the pie safely in the oven, he allowed himself a second beer, and a moment to calm his nerves. He planned, fully, on blaming Mary if this didn’t go as expected. He was doubting himself, now he was here and in the midst of it all. He’d been so sure when he was planning it out, but now... he finished his beer, but kept himself from opening another.

It had happened one night when he’d had too much to drink with Danny after a case. Just Danny. Not the whole team. He still wasn’t totally clear on how that had happened, but everyone else had had plans, so it had just been the two of them. Which had been an enlightening experience in more ways than one. Sometimes they got a bit carried away after a really rough case, but it was all of them doing it together. It’d never been just Steve and Danny before. They didn’t really think that through, though, and as they drank more and more, everything started to look just slightly different to Steve.

When he’d gotten home (in a cab, of course), Mary had called. They’d been playing phone tag for too long, so even though he was a bit worried about how drunk he was, he answered. He let something slip about Danny (maybe something about how cute he was or something, I dunno, he was drunk), and Mary had grabbed on and not let go.

“So, tell me more,” she’d prompted. And it was only because they hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together in far too long that Steve’s normal resistance was lacking.

Sighing dramatically in a way that reminded him of Danny and made him sigh even more, he kind of whined: “He made this amazing meal....”

If he hadn’t been so lost in sensations, thinking about that food, the way Danny had looked as he served it, how he’d brushed against Steve’s arm as he offered him more, he probably would have been more alerted by the tone in Mary’s voice. “Oh, yeah? What’d he make?”

“His grandma’s Italian food.” The tone of longing in his reply, he swore, had more to do with the food than the person serving it, really. It did. _Yeah_.

Mary, ever the one to keep Steve on task, and not let him mope, had pushed him in exactly the right way. “So make him Grandma’s meatloaf,” she’d suggested.

As soon as she’d said it, Steve had perked up. He’d never even thought about having something to offer in return. “Really? You think that would work?” Neither of them had said anything about _what_ exactly the goal was here. One small mercy for which Steve was grateful, looking back.

Mary’s enthusiasm had been catching. “Yeah, I mean, that’s our family classic. Maybe it’s not as fancy as Danny’s grandma’s lasagna, but, hey, it’s our family... that’s what matters, sharing that tradition.”

It had sounded like such a great idea. Something to share—Danny always liked it when Steve shared things about his past. When Mary had suggested the famous pineapple pie as well, Steve had known he had to give it a try.

The timing presented itself perfectly. He’d been trying to get Danny to go surfing with him all week, and Danny kept putting him off, talking about how crazy things were, how behind on things at home he was. He had a day-long thing... then he needed two days to clean, and THEN he could spend some time with Steve. He promised.

Well. Steve could work with that. He knew he could do Danny’s two days worth of cleaning in less than one, easy. He’d watched Danny try and clean before, just saying. It was more about piddling and making more coffee and snacking than actual cleaning. Steve could do it in a few hours, he was sure.

And so it was that Steve found himself, Grandma’s meatloaf and pie in the oven, having cleaned his partner’s house, making a cocktail (his own recipe: lots of rum, a little bit of pineapple) to take the edge off any shock Danny might feel when he found what was waiting for him at home.

Right on time, Danny pulled up. Steve was waiting by the door, holding the drink. He knew, obviously, that Danny would have seen his truck—kinda hard to miss—and he would have known _something_ was up. So he was prepared for suspicion, or possibly snark, or—he desperately hoped not, but knew it was possible—actual anger. What he wasn’t prepared for was of course what he got. Amusement.

“What have you done?”

Steve tried to look innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.” He handed Danny the drink.

“I mean,” Danny began, taking the cocktail, “You somehow broke into my house, obviously cleaned everything,” he breathed in, deeply. “You’ve been cooking...” he walked further into the room. “And you lit candles and put out flowers.” Taking a sip of his drink, he had started to shake his head but it turned to a nod as he evidently appreciated the cocktail. “Alright. I’ll bite. Either you did something very very bad and are trying to make up for it, or... you’re trying to seduce me.”

Steve’s smile had grown slowly throughout all of that, and by the end it was nearly Cheshire cat worthy. But he pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything.

Danny went back to a bemused shaking of his head, setting his drink down on the coffee table. “Well, either way, I’d better shower and change before this goes any further. When’s dinner ready?”

“About twenty minutes,” Steve replied, checking his watch.

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” And he went to his room, where Steve was certain he wouldn’t miss the roses and candles.

Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Steve went to check on the food.

He’d just taken the pie out of the oven when Danny reemerged, damp, but smelling fresh, and again holding his cocktail. Taking up a place on the other side of the counter, Danny watched Steve’s proceedings with an interest that sent tiny shivers of anticipation through Steve’s nerves. He wouldn’t have foreseen how thrilling it could be to have someone watch you cook.

Danny pulled a bar stool out and perched on it, setting his drink on the counter. “What’s the pie?”

Steve nearly laughed. Of course he’d narrow in on the sweet first. “My grandmother’s famous pineapple pie.”

“The crust is impressive.”

Steve felt the heat rise in his cheeks. _Huh. That was interesting_. He didn’t flatter easily—really at all, despite Danny’s many complainings about his smugness. But he’d worked hard on that pie and it was sure nice to have it appreciated. He smiled and turned back to the stove. The gravy was almost ready.

As soon as it was, Steve plated them up, and led the way to the table.

“Wow, this is something.” Danny hadn’t really moved much past bemused. Steve was glad that _suspicious_ hadn’t been his default.

They sat down, across the table from each other. Steve had debated for a long time between across the table the long way, across the table the short way, and cattycorner, and had gone with across the table the long way because it simply looked the most impressive. He was regretting that choice now. He only regretted it more, as Danny seemed to really enjoy the food, and kept sending him rather flirtatious, appreciative glances throughout the meal. When Steve got up to clear the dishes and bring in the pie, he had to take a moment to seriously kick himself, hard, for going with “impressive” over “closer to Danny.” Swearing he’d never make that mistake again, he grabbed the ice cream from the freezer, carried it and the pie back out, and nearly dropped both when he saw that during his pause to kick himself, Danny had done a little tweaking of the seating chart. He was now sitting right around the curve of the table from Steve’s spot, just as though that was where he’d been all along, the entire setting of the table, candles, flowers, all adjusted accordingly. Steve’s heart rate picked considerably up at that, and he propelled himself into the room to sit before he might stumble.

“So, Grandma’s pie, huh?”

“Yeah, Mary and I grew up with pineapple pie at Thanksgiving, not pumpkin.”

“So, how come you’ve never made it before?”

Steve sighed. “I guess it was too tied up with too many memories?”

Danny’s face fell. He reached a hand out to Steve’s arm. “Well, I’m honored to get to try it, babe,” he said, softly. “You slice it, I’ll do the ice cream,” he offered, opening the container of ice cream. _Seriously, the man and his sweet tooth_. Steve felt his heart settle at the familiar thought.

With his first bite of pie, any remaining pretense that Danny didn’t actually love pineapple was solidly out the door. The look on his face was more than worth all the hard work over the crust. And the accompanying right to tease Danny mercilessly about pineapple, well. That was absolutely priceless. 

Once Danny’d wolfed the pie down—he actually left some of the ice cream, which Steve found oddly endearing—he sat back in his chair, and kicked his feet out... and knocked them into Steve’s. Bare feet ran along the side of Steve’s leg, and came to rest, on top of his own outstretched legs. He tried, but failed, to suppress the slight shudder that accompanied the sensation. Danny noticed, and looked very pleased with himself.

“So... which is it, babe?”

“Which... what?” Steve had to shake himself slightly to pull himself out of what had been about to be a slide into dangerous territory.

“Apology or seduction?”

_That didn’t help_.

Danny smirked. “Either you did something, and you’re trying to make up for it.... Or, you’re after something. Which is it?”

Steve bit his lip. He wasn’t really prepared to answer that question just yet. The pineapple pie had won him points, absolutely. But he wanted to be more certain before he showed his hand. “Shall we have coffee and watch something?” He hoped he was right, and the serious backlog of Danny’s favorite show, clogging his DVR, would be too much for him to resist.

The expression that crossed Danny’s face made it clear he suspected Steve had been snooping, but he was plainly eager to make inroads into catching up, so he agreed easily, and soon they were... well, basically cuddling on the sofa, to watch the show. Danny had a big sofa, that wasn’t the issue. But they’d kind of developed their TV viewing habits in slightly less roomy situations. Danny’s old apartment for example. Even Steve’s couch, while somewhat spacious, even for two grown men, they just tended to slide together, and Steve tended to stretch out, and okay, he tended to put his arm around Danny. (He did it in booths at restaurants as well, so it wasn’t like it was just a sofa thing, alright?)

At any rate, it was never something Danny resisted. And he didn’t tonight. In fact, he seemed to be leaning more against Steve than he usually did. And when Steve toed off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table, Danny slid his legs alongside. Which was a bit of a departure for him. Fortunately Steve was well practiced in breathing techniques to calm a racing pulse, so hopefully Danny didn’t notice that he was a little more breathy than usual.

They watched two episodes, which took a long time, as Danny had to keep pausing and explaining who the characters were and what was going on. Okay, maybe Steve just liked it when Danny did that—he watched the show himself sometimes because he knew Danny did. But he hadn’t realized Danny’d been so far behind... that would be something he’d try to keep a better eye on, he decided.

When the second episode was over, Danny stood. “Well, I’m beat. Come on, babe,” and he started towards the bedroom.

_Ummmm....?_

Steve stood, rooted to the spot. Afraid to move. Afraid to say anything. Danny turned around, looked at him with raised eyebrows, and waited.

“Well, don’t be shy now, babe. Are you coming or not?”

Steve swallowed. Well, he tried to. It didn’t really work.

Danny walked back towards a still un-moving Steve. Right up to him. Like, right in his personal space. Closer. His body pressing against Steve’s. Which, okay, it had been on the sofa, but side to side, not front to front. This was close-in-your-personal-space, even for them. Steve was pretty sure he didn’t remember how to breathe. Reaching a hand down along Steve’s arm, Danny took a hold of one of Steve’s hands, squeezed it, and looking down at it, his voice raspy and rough, said: “If you’d rather just have a good night kiss, that’s okay. But this was no apology. This was a whole lot more. Totally unnecessary, by the way. Appreciated. So much. But unnecessary.” He looked up at Steve. “So... are you coming or not?”

Steve slid his fingers through the fingers of Danny’s other hand. Pulling on both, he held Danny to the spot. “Slow down, please.”

Danny grinned, almost an echo of Steve’s Cheshire grin from before. “Really?” He somehow managed to get Steve sitting back down on the sofa. “Don’t you think we’ve gone slow enough? Huh? We’ve been dancing around this for how many years now?” He sat next to Steve, turned towards him. “What I want to know is what finally pushed you over the line?” Steve felt his eyes narrow. “Because this was over the line, babe. Breaking into my place? Good job, by the way, and I guess I’ll need new locks. Cleaning my whole house. Snooping through my DVR.” He paused, leaned closer. “But it was the food, babe. Sharing that with me? An apology would have been pizza, or Chinese, or pizza and Chinese. But family recipes... that says love. That says... sharing something personal. You know me well enough to get that. So, well played.”

Steve was stunned by all of that, but he latched on to the last line. “Danny. This isn’t a game.”

Danny brought one of Steve’s hands up, and kissed it. “I realize that.”

“I don’t want to rush things,” Steve managed to not sound like he very much wanted to rush things.

Smiling, squeezing Steve’s hands. “You don’t have to woo me, you know.”

And there. That was exactly it. Steve grinned. “Maybe I _want_ to....”

“Alright. You win.” Danny stood, and pulled Steve along with him. He went up on his tip toes and kissed Steve on the cheek. “But if that’s what we’re doing, it’s my turn. I will take you on a date tomorrow night. Be ready at eight.” And he turned and walked to his room, leaving Steve to gather himself, and let himself out into the night.

It took him a while, but when he finally left, he took the long way home, grinning the whole way.


	22. Pizza Under the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little something I needed this morning. :-)

They’d had one of those cases that didn’t go their way.

It happened sometimes. Not a lot, thankfully, but it did happen. No one was at fault. Steve never blamed his team. But it did happen.

Danny’d taken it hard. Harder than usual, it had seemed to Steve. And that hurt Steve more than the outcome of the case. So, when they’d finished wrapping things up and tying all the necessary bows, Steve said good night to the team, but kept a hand on Danny’s arm. Kono noticed, and snuck him the sweetest smile that settled somewhere in his heart, encouraging him. He nodded back, then turned to Danny.

“Hey.”

Danny’s only response was to close his eyes and look like he might start to cry. Steve wrapped his arms around his partner, shuffled his feet closer in, and as he felt Danny’s breath shudder, he let his chin rest on top of Danny’s head.

“Yeah,” Danny finally managed, and tried to pull back.

Steve held on tighter, which got a soft, almost-laugh out of Danny.

“Come on, buddy, let’s go get some food.”

Releasing Danny reluctantly, Steve slid an arm around his shoulder and steered him to the parking lot, into the truck, and headed to his place.

“Do you want—” He’d started to ask if Danny wanted to call for pizza, but was interrupted by Danny, on his phone, ordering their usual. He smiled in his hand and thought to himself that maybe this was becoming something of a habit with them.

Long ago Steve had realized that pizza was Danny’s ultimate comfort food. It didn’t seem to matter as much as it had seven years ago that it wasn’t “real” pizza. Steve had even been on the receiving end of pineapple and ham pizza a couple of times, when Danny’d been in a celebratory mood and felt like indulging Steve (that was a mood he seemed to encounter more frequently since the whole liver thing).

Counting quickly in his head, Steve remembered seven times in the past two months they’d wound up at his house or Danny’s, calling for pizza on the way—they both had the number of the closest delivery on their phones. He’d been thinking that meant something, and he should try and work it out, but he hadn’t wanted to look too closely at it. In all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what he’d see if he did, and he had been enjoying the company. So he left it alone. For now.

When they got to the house, Danny was at the door, letting himself in, and heading for the kitchen to grab a beer before Steve had even gotten out of the truck.

Danny stood at the kitchen counter, downed his first beer in just two gulps, opened another, handed one to Steve and just kind of _sagged_.

Ignoring the offered beer, Steve went to the hall closet to find something. He’d had an idea, just something a little different from the usual—which was likely to be pizza boxes tossed on the coffee table, something mindless on the TV, and falling asleep leaning up against each other on the sofa.

By the time he’d found it and gone back to the kitchen, Danny was on beer three, but still standing there, now leaning against the counter, but otherwise unmoved.

Grabbing a fresh six pack from the fridge, setting it on the counter along with the supplies from the closet, Steve rummaged through the cabinets and freezer, and found a few more things. By the time the pizza arrived, he was ready, and Danny was on beer four. Barely managing all the items he’d gathered, he put the pizza boxes in Danny’s hands, and pushed him towards the back door, out past the lanai, and towards the beach. The fact that Danny didn’t object to what Steve was obviously planning—“I don’t like sand in my food, Steven,” was the usual gripe—ordinarily worried Steve, but he was already past that level of concern.

Danny flomped into one of the chairs, setting the boxes on the table, while Steve spread a blanket out on the sand. He then set up some torches which he lit, pulled a tiny speaker out of his pocket and put on some music—Danny music. (Yes, he had a “Danny” playlist on his phone, okay? What did you expect?) He then opened two beers, held one out to Danny, who reached for it while still sitting.

“Uh-uh,” Steve scolded. “On the blanket, buddy.”

Danny groaned in protest, but did as he was told and was rewarded with a beer.

Steve sat down himself, opened the first box, held out a slice to Danny, along with a cloth red and white checked napkin, took a slice for himself, then held out his beer.

“To next time,” he said, as Danny clinked his bottle.

Danny sighed. “Next time.”

Chin had started that tradition, several years back, after a really awful botched case had left them all feeling depressed and helpless. “We take it, we learn from it, we grow from it,” he’d philosophized. “We’re not perfect, and we should remember that. But we can always do better next time.” It was one of those things that wasn’t ever comforting when you said it, but you knew it would feel better at some point, and it did help sometimes after a while.

By the time Steve had finished his first slice, Danny was on his third, and Steve had to make a mental note that he should start stocking snacks in both their cars, because it never helped when they missed lunch on top of everything else. He was used to going for long stretches without food—yes, he had super secret training on it, but he also found he did better on an emptier stomach. But not Danny. Danny absolutely did not do well on an empty stomach at all. Not even close. Steve joked about his partner’s propensity to spend stakeouts waxing poetic about food from home, but Steve knew there was truth in there, about Danny’s need for nourishment. Although... he wondered sometimes about how much of that was actually about blood sugar, and how much was about a need for sweetness of another sort altogether.

Which kind of sparked another idea in Steve’s curious mind. Setting his beer down, he stood up.

“Be right back,” he said to Danny as he headed back up to the lanai, where he had a stack of firewood. By the time he got the small fire going, Danny’d had enough to eat, was on god knows what beer, and leaning back, looking almost relaxed and considerably less tortured.

When Steve was happy with the fire, he sat back, opened a fresh beer, took another slice, and looked over at Danny, who he had noticed was staring at him, rather than watching the fire.

“Whatcha thinking, Danno?” He asked, around a mouthful of pizza.

“First of all, that’s disgusting,” Danny replied, and if he was back to criticizing Steve’s table manners we were definitely on the right track. “Second of all, am I an Aloha Girl trying to get my ‘dinner under the stars’ badge?” Steve laughed, and went for a third slice. “And third of all, thank you.”

Steve grinned, nodded acceptance, and leaned back. “It seemed like a nice idea,” he said, looking across the flames at Danny, who was starting to get that _Now what’s for dessert_ look. “There’s cookies in the basket,” he said as he finished the slice and laid all the way back on the blanket.

He’d left the picnic basket on his chair, so Danny had to stand to go get it. When he came back, with the box of Aloha Girl cookies (he’d picked the mint chocolate ones, of course, though Steve had also put some of those stupidly good Hawaiian shortbreads in there too), he didn’t sit back down where he’d been, but instead came ‘round to Steve’s side of the fire and laid down next to him.

Licking his lips and pressing them together to hide his amusement, Steve thought to himself that he’d been right, and it wasn’t just sugar and protein that Danny needed, but sweetness and nourishment of another kind as well.

Danny fussed a bit trying to get comfortable, and eventually settled on letting his head rest on Steve’s shoulder (he lifted his arm to let Danny in, though Danny was basically a big dog and would have moved it if he hadn’t), finally settling in and actually saying “There, that’s better,” as he came to rest at last.

Closing his eyes, savoring the contact, and breathing in the smell of mint and chocolate mixed with pizza, salt air, and campfire, Steve wanted to wrap this moment up and keep it in his heart forever. Which, he had to admit, told him something about those things he’d been not wanting to think too closely about. “Yeah, Danno,” he said, taking the half eaten cookie from Danny’s hand and tossing it into his own mouth. “That’s much better.”


	23. Vacation Mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, in theory, this chapter follows from [chapter 32](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5374970/chapters/25157295) of my other chapters-as-stories work, [“By Your Side”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5374970/chapters/12413861). You don’t have to read that one before you read this.... but for those who do, it might be kinda fun. (Side note—you can read chapter 32 of By Your Side without having read any of the previous 31 “chapters” as they’re also mostly stand alone stories.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit messy (on top, but sweet underneath), but it’s been sitting at the top of the stack while I got distracted, so I’m just going to post it so I can move on and write more!

Steve could hardly believe it. He and Danny were finally... what did the kids even call it these days? Seeing each other? Didn’t really seem to fit, they always saw each other every day. “Dating” wasn’t quite right either, as they’d not actually been “out” on a date. And, technically, they were “sleeping” together, but so far sleep was all they had done. Which was mostly because Steve had been hurt.

And now he wasn’t. And he wanted to thank Danny for having taken care of him last weekend. Also maybe he was eager to get Danny back to his place, back into that kind of vacation-like-mode Danny had fallen into while taking care of Steve’s latest injury.

Following that weekend, they’d imagined they could sleep apart on Monday. That had been a mistake. Steve had slept fitfully at best, and Danny said he slept “some” but he did not look like he’d even gone to bed when Steve saw him Tuesday morning. Danny’d taken Steve home with him Tuesday night, claiming it was to make sure Steve was still taking it easy, but Steve was pretty sure it was so that Danny could sleep. He was happy to oblige, however. Very happy to.

Wednesday, Danny had the kids, so they stayed apart. “Middling” was how Danny described his sleep that night.

By Thursday, Steve was brewing his plan. He allowed Danny to take him home that night (and they both slept like logs), but the next morning, he suggested Danny pack a few things and come spend the weekend at his place. For one brief moment it looked like Danny might resist, but then he got this dreamy, far off look in his eyes, and ambled lazily to his closet to browse around, evidently for appropriate things to bring. Steve watched with amusement and tried not to feel annoyed that he couldn’t get Danny away for longer than just the weekend. He was going to make the most of the time they did have. And that meant starting tonight.

“You pack, buddy, I’ll see you at the office later.”

And he headed off to the grocery store, then home, before going in to work.

They got one case that day, but Chin seemed to have picked up on something between Steve and Danny, because he insisted he and Lou could handle it if Kono was at the office running intel with Jerry, and Steve and Danny should just take it easy anyway, and maybe really they should just get out of the way to be honest, and go on ahead home for the weekend....

 _Subtle, Chin_ , Steve thought, but he didn’t refuse, and Danny’d never really made it mentally into the office that morning, so by 2:30 they were sitting on Steve’s lanai, sipping frozen daiquiris. Danny was barefoot, in swim trunks and an open button down shirt, and Steve was mentally blessing the gods of relaxing weekends.

Steve didn’t remember when he’d first discovered what “vacation Danny” was like. He’d maybe caught glimpses here and there over the years, and they’d always left him wanting more. He had, before last weekend, imagined that it would take a good solid week away—and somewhere _not_ Hawaii—to really pull the fullness of that persona to the surface. But the barefoot, open shirt, still-snarky-but-more-lazily-so Danny who had shown up on Steve’s lanai (and in his bed) last weekend had been a revelation. It was _that_ Danny who had climbed so willingly into bed with him, and he suspected it was that Danny who would be the answer to keeping him there. Steve wanted all of Danny, all his moods, all his versions. But it was, he knew with as much certainty as he had about Danny, that it was this “vacation” Danny who held the key.

So, it was Vacation Danny who he planned on wooing that weekend.

He had to admit, he was off to a good start. For that first batch of daiquiris he’d used the nice simple white rum. But he had some Navy strength rum hidden away. It was his ace in the hole, as it were. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he knew he might. He had quite a few other tricks up his sleeves to get through first, however.

The first of which was to pay attention to Danny, to take his lead from him, to follow what Danny seemed to want. Squelching his own instincts, his own desires, his own preferences wasn’t something that came naturally or easily to Steve. But he knew, very vividly, that it was absolutely the secret to wooing Danny—especially vacation Danny. Regular office, weekday, obsessive worry-filled Danny was worn down and accustomed to going along with whatever Steve pushed, prodded, or otherwise forced on him. He griped about it, yes (though Steve had long suspected that Danny actually _liked_ to do that), but he did go along with it. It was not just part of “work day” Danny, but part of their whole relationship-thing.

Which, in all fairness, was probably part of the “problem,” in so far as there was one. And from the perspective that Steve wanted Danny more than just in his bed, there was just a little bit of a problem. Work Danny’s boss was Steve. And, even Steve would admit it, he acted that out sometimes. Pulled the boss card. It might not have looked like it to the casual observer, they put on a good “team” front. But it was there. And Steve knew Danny was very much aware of it. Work Danny was, that is.

Vacation Danny, on the other hand... he didn’t care about distinctions like that, he was too laid back—he didn’t seem to be bothered by much, to be honest. And that was how Steve had decided he was the key to getting (and keeping) Danny, not just in his bed, but in his romantic life. Because Steve figured if he could get Vacation Danny coming around regularly, he’d be able to manage or sustain (not _control_ , he wasn’t that deluded) a Real Relationship with Danny. Maybe he was selling Danny short, but he had the feeling that Work Danny would have too many objections and issues and barriers to having a romantic relationship—the kind Steve wanted—with his boss. Messy, lazy kisses while recovering from injury were nice and all, but Steve wanted Tuesday morning breakfast, and Thursday dinner, and Sunday night “I don’t want to go to work tomorrow” blues. He wanted all of it.

First things first.

Keeping Danny fed.

There was a balance to be maintained, he knew from years of experience, between food and alcohol input when it came to his blond partner. Too much food and the booze didn’t have the desired “loosening” effect. Too little food and the booze took over—which led to one of two things: completely giddy Danny or darkly morose Danny. Neither of which were Steve’s aims this weekend. He had lightly buzzed, utterly relaxed, and slightly effervescent (yet still sassy and a bit snarky as well) Danny in his sights, and he knew it was achievable. He just hoped he’d guessed right with his purchases.

They got through the afternoon with Steve feeling pretty proud of himself, reading the cues. A little sugar here, a little savory there, some protein at just the right moment... he even held back from suggesting they go swim or paddleboard. Danny needed to just laze about. Activity might happen the next day, but tonight needed to be, above all else, _easy_.

They had moved to the upstairs lanai after Steve grilled some fish for dinner. He’d made another batch of daiquiris, but still light-ish on the rum, and turned out he was glad he had, because Danny left his half finished and started on Steve instead. He probably should have known that Danny would get pushy with sex. And he probably should have realized how much he would enjoy that side of Danny. He wasn’t quite up for such athletic activities yet, but he did manage to get them showered and in his bed while they still had some energy left. Danny seemed surprised by his willingness to be slow, thoughtful, and tender, but as Steve pointed out, he wanted Danny to know it was about _him_ and about Steve’s feelings for him. Maybe that had been too much emotion too soon, and he felt a surge of panic threaten to break over them, but everything was softened with Vacation Danny, even panic, and it passed gently on a simple swell of something like “yeah, well, that’s all part of this messy complicated thing” and Danny’d never been so easily philosophical, so readily accepting of difficulty. Steve was kind of amazed.

Eventually, they fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms. And when they awoke, it was to more of the same wonderful, magical, adoring of each other. When Danny suggested they skip breakfast and go surfing early before the crowds hit, Steve wasn’t sure he trusted his luck to hold out—but he decided it was worth trying. He was glad he had, because when they got back from surfing, and were completely starving, he found out Danny could be quite creative when he was torn between wanting to eat, wanting to shower, and wanting Steve.

That evening, they grilled steaks on the beach, and Danny didn’t even complain about sand in his food.

Heading to bed early, they took advantage of the things they’d been learning about their bodies—preferences, sensitivities... and they fell asleep swiftly, but woke several times throughout the night, which meant that the next morning, they were considerably more lazy, and that translated into an easy day around the house, hanging sleepily about, reading, snacking, nearly napping. Steve made some notes about little things he noticed made Danny really happy. Like being brought coffee while he sat, drying in the sun after a shower. Or being fed slices of fruit while he read his book, his feet resting on Steve’s lap. Or having Steve in the kitchen while he cooked, tasting the sauce he made for the pasta. There were other things Steve learned as well, like about that spot behind Danny’s ear that made his toes twitch, or how kissing the inside of his wrist made him growl. Danny made his own observations about Steve’s special spots and things that made his skin thrill—and things that made his heart go seriously squishy.

In some ways it made sense how swiftly they figured each other out. The kind of in-the-blood knowing they had of each other’s moves on a case was already a very intimate thing. And maybe a lot of it was how practiced they were at reading each other—knowing their “tells” and tiny signs of reaction that most people would miss. They’d both had relationships with people they’d worked with before, of course, but this was somehow on a whole different level, and Steve was starting to feel that he couldn’t imagine it any other way. They already had intimacy—they were just finally using it.

By late Sunday evening, however, Steve was growing twitchy. He had been watching, since their early dinner/late lunch (lazy day, remember), for signs that Danny was switching back over to “work Danny.” He must have been obvious about it, because as they sat out on the lanai outside the bedroom, sipping wine, reading books (well, Steve wasn’t reading, he was staring at Danny—that was probably what gave him away), Danny called him on it.

“Steven, relax, would you? What do you think, I’m going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight? You got me babe, I’m here. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day.” He reached over, and squeezed Steve’s hand softly, and smiled a little sadly. “I won’t be my weekend self all week, but I promise I will try to remember he exists.” Still holding the hand, he squeezed harder, and his voice deepened. “You can always remind me of it, you know.” He paused, leveled a heated look in Steve’s eyes. “ _Pretty easily_.”  Dropping Steve’s hand, he stood, leaving his book on his chair, motioning for Steve to follow him to the bedroom.

“Yeah?” Steve managed to ask, as he felt himself about to drown in the flood of sensation that he was coming to find was Danny, going after what he wanted.

“Yeah, babe. Promise.” And he pushed Steve towards the bed.

Steve wasn’t totally sure he how true it was, that Danny would remember his relaxed self easily, but he really didn’t have anything to lose, and it sure as hell was worth trying.


	24. Steve's Take-Out Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been neglecting this (and BYS as well), and I’m not happy about that... So, here’s some quick and utterly silly sappy cheesy fluffy fluff for your weekend.

“Bring chocolate.”

That was the text that started it all.

(In retrospect, probably he should have seen it coming long before then. Probably it really started some random Tuesday during the middle of the day, during the middle of a boring bout of paperwork. Probably some whining gripe about how impossible it was to stay awake on nothing but salad and protein.)

And Steve had caved. No doubt fairly easily.

Because really when it came to it, Steve was nothing if not a pushover when it came to Danny. Especially a Danny who was whiny and complainy, soft and pathetic—needy in that over-the-top, borderline-ridiculous kind of way.

But the texted demands—and really, they were demands, though I’m sure Danny would have vehemently denied that label—those had taken Steve’s willingness to drop everything to make sure Danny had whatever treat or goodie he might randomly be craving (and let’s just be honest for a second here, can we please, because “silly random cravings” is kind of Danny’s middle name) to a whole new level.

So, he hadn’t hesitated. Although, Steve never hesitates.

Well, he might have halted momentarily in the ice cream aisle, and debated briefly between possibilities in the “chocolate” category. He’d chosen chocolate chocolate chip in the end, and been glad he had because the sounds Danny had made while he’d rather obscenely sucked it from the spoonful Steve offered him had been well worth it.

Sometimes the texts requested slightly more savory options. At first it struck Steve as a little odd that Danny seemed to have forgotten how to order food for himself. Because Danny ate delivery food so frequently that surely his local Chinese take-out would have been up to the task of interpreting a “Bring my food” text form from his phone as a valid and comprehensible order.

But Steve didn’t mind.

Okay, okay, maybe that’s a bit of an understatement. Steve enjoyed it. I mean, if Danny ordered take out himself, he’d eat the whole container, probably in bed, and probably fall asleep with the TV on, not even bothering to brush his teeth. But if he asked Steve to bring it, Steve ordered extra veggies, and made sure Danny ate some, and not just the meat and noodles, and they sat at the table or at least on the sofa, and before Steve left, he made sure Danny brushed his teeth and went to bed.

Steve’s Take-Out Service, as he’d started calling it to himself (never to Danny—that would not have gone over well, and he was mindful of not making a big deal about all of it because he had this feeling that if he did Danny would feel called out and would stop, and Steve very much did not want it to stop), had been going along fairly regularly for a couple months or so when it started to subtly change.

Danny’d never requested drinks. Partly that was a thing of pride between them. There’d been an unspoken policy of never running out of Longboards from many years back, and they’d only broken it, between them both, maybe a handful of times—and those had all been under extraordinary circumstances.

The first texted demand that Steve felt indicated things were shifting, was a request for wine. Red wine. Chianti, to be precise. When Steve had shown up at Danny’s with two bottles of the classic Italian food accompaniment, the smell of garlic had greeted him, and he’d been delighted to see an entire meal laid out on the table—Danny’s grandma’s recipes. He’d been so taken by the gesture he hadn’t even brought up the whole Call Your Restaurant “Steve’s” business.

After that, there were still some of the original texts—some of which came from Danny while they were at work, which always made Steve chuckle. Sometimes he turned it into a whole office thing, partly to avoid how it might look if he went out to Leonard’s in the middle of the day and came back with that telltale pink box only for Danny. But sometimes he kept it secret and snuck treats just for Danny. He started stocking his fridge and his desk drawers with some of the more likely options, especially the really good chocolate and those insanely expensive fancy fruity tea drinks Danny had somewhere along the line developed a taste for. If any of the team noticed that Steve made more frequent than usual visits to Danny’s office, they didn’t say anything.

But after the Chianti incident, there were more different kinds of texts.

“Bring a movie” was his favorite, because it meant that Danny was intentionally letting Steve pick—which never happened. Danny’d always had a bit of a thing about not allowing Steve to choose the film for movie night. Somehow, he'd never been able to push that one; it just hadn’t seemed fair. Movies were so much more Danny’s thing, and he had given in to that very early on in their friendship, and had found on the few times he’d tried that Danny held that territory firmly and had no plans of releasing his hold on it. Until, that is, the “Bring a movie” texts started. Steve would pick one of his old favorites, like _The Hunt for Red October_ , and when he'd show up at Danny’s, there would be a whole smorgasbord of movie treats: popcorn, licorice, chocolate mints, jujubes, even sometimes nachos (but good ones, of course, with real cheese). The other reason Steve liked movie nights the best might have been a little bit because of the movie night tradition they’d established long ago. Which was that they unabashedly cuddled during the film. Sometimes Steve forgot to pay attention to the plot at all. And he never minded one bit.  

After about a month or so of Movie Night and Italian Dinner texts, Danny started sending “Meet me at ___” texts. “Meet me for burgers” and “Meet me at the beach” were fairly quickly followed by slightly more upscale versions that gave Steve chills of anticipation that he tried very hard to damp down: “Meet me at sushi” and “Meet me for cocktails” really felt like date night kinds of things to him, but he didn’t trust his judgment on that because he tended to think of everything with Danny as a “date” by that point.

But when he got a text from Danny asking him to his favorite steakhouse, on a Saturday night, with explicit instructions to “dress nicely, please, no boots,” Steve was starting to feel they were in completely new territory. He had seen suave, wooing Danny in action only a few times—it was something Danny had tended to hide from him—and he really regretted that he’d been missing out all these years, because truly it was a sight to behold. Danny picked Steve up in the Camaro (Danny drove, Steve didn’t even try), he held the door for him, he led him to their table with his arm proprietarily on the small of his back. Danny ordered for them—he’d pre-ordered their appetizers and wine, so they came right away, he didn’t flirt with the wait staff like he usually did—he kept his eyes only for Steve.

It was slightly unnerving, but utterly entrancing, and Steve enjoyed every moment of it. When Danny dropped him back at his house, he walked Steve to the door, and while he felt like an awkward teenager, standing there in the porch light, listening to the bugs smack into the bulb, Danny said things about having a lovely time which were oddly muffled in Steve’s ears. But then Danny reached up and very very softly pressed one kiss to Steve’s lips before turning gracefully on his heel and ambling back to the car, looking for all the world like the hero of a romcom. Steve stood, stunned, until Danny’s car was out of sight, then he pressed his fingers to his lips as though he could keep the kiss there if he tried.

That whole next week, they were crazy busy, and Danny didn’t send any office or evening texts. But on Friday night, just as Steve was about to fall into bed, exhausted from the long week, his phone buzzed.

“Bring yourself.”

His heart just about flew out of his chest and he didn’t even bother putting shoes on, just grabbed his keys and jumped in the truck and tried really really hard not to speed on his way across town. Dangit why didn’t they live closer together? It’d had never bothered him before, and traffic wasn’t bad at all, and it probably only took about five minutes, but they had to have been the longest five minutes of his life.

Danny met him at the door and they fell against the wall, kissing. There was a brief “are we going to talk about this or just do this” exchange where they agreed, for once, that talking wasn’t really necessary, and before Steve knew it they were in Danny’s bed, and his last vaguely coherent thought was something along the lines of thank god for texting.

In the morning, with the soft pink light filtering through Danny’s curtains, Steve turned to look at his partner.

“That was my favorite one so far,” he whispered, as he reached a hand out to Danny’s arm, relishing the feel of his bare skin once again.

“I should teach you how to send texts,” Danny replied, then pushed Steve into the mattress and proceeded to offer numerous suggestions as to things he might request Danny bring him.

It had never occurred to Steve that he might send a text of his own—he’d felt that ball was best left in Danny’s court, besides, he enjoyed being Danny’s personal delivery service. But now the rules had changed, he couldn’t wait to begin.


	25. Now, Relax!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep giving myself story ideas from my previous stories. The idea for this one came directly out of [Chapter 33 of "By Your Side."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5374970/chapters/27451404) In that story, Danny commented that Steve is always telling him to loosen up. So, this happened. Hope you have half as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Danny’s been a little uptight recently.

Well, Danny’s always a little uptight. But lately it seems to Steve that he’s more uptight than usual. And Steve’s illness hasn’t helped things, he knows that, and he feels awful about it—sometimes worse than the symptoms themselves. Because Danny’d already been extra uptight. That damned Rachel-Stan divorce was helping nothing, and frankly making everything worse. So much worse. And, if Steve allowed himself to be completely selfish for just one moment, he’d complain that it was threatening to ruin everything. By which he meant, obviously, him and Danny. But that feels like “everything” to Steve so much of the time.

Especially lately.

Now, Steve does tend to get a bit swept up in the moment, and he doesn’t tend to be overly thoughtful or pensive or dwell on things for too long. Because there’s always another building to jump off of, another villain to pursue, another new threat to neutralize.... There is _always_ more for Five-0 to deal with, and it keeps him pretty well distracted, engaged, and often entertained.

But Steve’s favorite entertainment, on a whole bunch of different levels and for many different reasons, is Danny. And Danny has been too uptight too much of the time to have been any fun at all for longer than Steve can remember. And it’s starting to drive him just a little bit crazy. So he decides he needs to do something about it.

He has a whole litany of tried-and-true Danny tricks, Steve does. Things that have helped him get through the past seven years with his sanity mostly intact. The most immediate, daily task is making sure Danny stays reasonably caffeinated. Steve’s a pro at this one. He’s learned to sneak refilling Danny’s mug at the office, so that even if he thinks he’s only drinking one cup, it’s actually more than that. Steve’s really proud of this, and of the fact that Danny still hasn’t caught on that he does it, although he’s not very proud that it took him three years and forty eight bitten-off heads to come up with it.

The second most frequent need is sugar. While Steve thinks that Danny is plenty sweet as he naturally is, there is no denying the man has a more-than-normal desire for sugary treats. Why do you think Steve keeps the peppermint patties in his freezer? And that’s not the only place he hides candy. Sometimes he wonders if Danny even realizes he does it, just opens a drawer, seemingly randomly, and expects there to be something sweet. It amuses Steve to no end, and it hadn’t taken him very long to work out that it was his responsibility to stock those places with sweet things for his partner. They’ve never talked about it, not even once. But Steve ran out of peppermint patties without realizing, and Danny was an ass for the whole day, and Steve hasn’t let it happen since.

Probably one of the more important things, though, is protein. And, dangit, but even after all these years, Danny still fights him on this one. Which is incredibly frustrating to Steve, because Grace might mean well with the whole “Danno eat a salad please” thing, but shit, salad alone makes Danny crabby as all get out and it’s Steve who has to deal with it nine times out of ten, and not Grace, thanks very much.

But while all these things (and a few others) are vitally important to the regular, smooth maintenance and running of one Detective Danny Williams, none of them hit even a little on the “getting Danny to relax” side of things. They _are_ vital. And there’s very little chance of his relaxing without them. But they themselves are not enough.

Fortunately, Steve has discovered a few things that work quite well to get Danny to ease up. Surfing is one of the best, because it also relaxes Steve. He’d been thrilled when Danny finally took to surfing (and, if Steve was honest, wound up being a little bit better at it than he is—but please don’t tell Danny he admitted that). Hosting a BBQ for the team is another way to get Danny to shift a bit towards his more relaxed state, and just in general, any time Steve can get the man into flip flops it’s usually a good thing. Getting Danny in the kitchen and making Steve’s house smell like an Italian bistro is also proving to be a positive. But all of these things have been pretty much off the table lately, since Steve’s been sick.

So he needs to find some new methods, and fast. Because Danny is driving him fucking insane. And he hates it, but he has two ways he knows will work without fail, and he tries never to use them because he very much feels that they’re underhanded and devious, but he is at his wit’s end, so he caves and decides he doesn’t have a choice.

The first is, probably too obviously, booze. It has to be enough booze, which can be a bit of a challenge with Danny... he’s got some sort of natural internal sensor that tends to keep him from over-indulging unless prodded either by Steve or by heartbreak. It also has to be the right kind, because Steve has learned that different types affect Danny differently. Red wine makes him bossy and pedantic, which is weird and kind of ironic, because red wine makes Steve goofy and soft—which has made for some interesting evenings over the years. Too much beer, on the other hand, tends to put Danny in a buddy-buddy, back-slapping kind of mood—loose, yes, but maybe not _at ease_ , especially if he’s being competitive, which he sometimes is with Steve. Whiskey makes them both a bit morose, but in all fairness, they typically only drink the good stuff when they’re already morose—it’s kind of the nature of the drink itself. The best for what Steve’s after—that lovely, slightly silly, a bit giddy, squishy soft and fond Danny—the best for that, he’s found, is rum. Especially if it’s mixed with something fruity, and topped with a nice slice of pineapple. Umbrella and cherry are optional.

There’s a problem, though. Which is that as fascinating as it is that Steve knows all of this, it’s considerably less fascinating that Danny knows that Steve knows it. And sometimes when Danny’s being a super big pain in the ass and Steve takes him to a bar and orders him a tropical cocktail, Danny bristles. That’s if Steve’s lucky. If he’s less lucky, or if Danny’s really pissed off, the drink winds up in Steve’s face. There might be a couple bars they’re not allowed in anymore. Which, okay, Steve would rather do this at home anyway, and he _is_ known across all the seven seas as a fabulous mixologist. But there’s that slight problem of Danny seeing it coming. He might _not_ resist, he might realize he’s been an uptight asshole lately, but he might still get mad and refuse.

So, Steve has to ease in to it. Which brings us to the second thing that Steve knows will help. And it pains him more than he’ll admit, but he tries to tell himself that it will be worth it. And that is a cheesy romantic comedy, preferably with lots of kissing and lovey-dovey crap. He cringes even thinking it, but a sappy Danny invariably leads to a very pleasingly relaxed Danny, and Steve is willing to put up with the process for the result. He has a list, on his phone, of movie recommendations from Grace. It’s password protected. Nothing else on his phone is, but he learned how to do it, specifically for this list. Because, well, obvious reasons. He’s got five of the films stored on his DVR. You know, just so he’s prepared. And good thing, too, because he’s at his freaking wit’s end with his ridiculous partner.  

Food is, unquestionably, going to be important. This is Danny, after all. And, more than just protein and sugar, this meal needs to be comfort food. Oh, the difference comfort food makes on the moods of boys from Jersey. Well, one specific boy from Jersey, at least. The menu has taken Steve some time to decide, because he is certain that it needs to not be one of their usual take-out options, if for no other reason than they’ve been wearing those more than a bit thin. In the end, he decides to stick with his own probably equally over-worn standard “date night” menu: roasted chicken, potatoes, and green beans. Nothing spectacular, nothing difficult. But—and maybe this is weird, but—he’s never made that for Danny, because it is what he makes for his dates. However, he is desperate, and willing to pull out all the stops for Danny, so he decides his own tried-and-true comfort meal is the best guarantee for success. Even though it’s not a date. Like, at all. Although, to be fair, someone observant, witnessing all of this planning and preparation, might dare mention that the whole thing rather reeks of a date. To which Steve would no doubt object strongly. _Too_ strongly, if you get my drift.

Now. There’s just the small matter of getting Danny to come over on Friday night. Which is maybe going to be harder than he’d like. Um. Because he doesn’t really want to just ask him, like, _on a date_. But. Well. Maybe he kind of does. To be honest, he’s kind of confusing himself, with the thought and attention to detail he’s putting into all of this. Which is why it comes to Friday morning, and Steve is sitting at his desk, having a minor existential crisis over whether or not he wants to date his work partner, when Danny walks in.

“God, I could use a vacation,” Danny growls, tossing a stack of paperwork on Steve’s desk.

Steve tries to stop the smirk, but he’s too late. _Perfect_. It’s the perfect opening. He dives for it. “Me too, buddy. How ‘bout you come over tonight, I’ve got a chicken I need to roast, and we can watch a movie. Your choice.” He hopes it sounds casual. It sounds casual, right? He tries to remind himself to breathe.

Danny seems kind of startled by the invitation, but recovers quickly. “Uh, okay. Yeah, sounds nice, babe.” He smiles, at least a little bit of a smile. Which is more than he’s granted Steve in well over a week, so Steve takes it gladly.

The rest of the day takes literally forever, and nothing at all happens, which makes everything go so much slower. Finally it’s time to go, and Steve bolts for the door and probably speeds even more than usual on the way home.

He’s just finished the potatoes and green beans, and has got the foil off the chicken so it browns a bit, when Danny shows up. Steve meets him at the door with a cocktail. He’d obviously gone home to change before coming over, and is dressed in shorts, an open front button down over a tight fitting tee, and flip flops. Steve does a mental gleeful dance, and waits for Danny to take a sip of the drink—his signature cocktail, a daiquiri (not frozen, thank you very much). Danny knows the drink, and Steve had been afraid there might be some danger in choosing it, but he also knew it could really pay off if Danny went for it, because Steve had used the Navy Strength rum. Which is his secret weapon. He’d used it once before on Danny, and it had nearly ended with them in bed together. Steve has to stop himself remembering that before it gets him in trouble—he’s just aiming for finally-the-heck-relaxed tonight, that’s all.

Somewhat amazingly, Danny’s really pleased with the choice, grinning as he recognizes that telltale daiquiri color. It probably speaks to his own level of frustration and irritation of late that he knows he needs it, and Steve feels pretty awful when he realizes that. He hasn’t been supportive enough, hasn’t been paying enough attention to Danny, and it occurs to him that he might be more than a little to blame for Danny’s shit mood lately. That horrible thought gets disrupted, however, by the grateful sounds Danny makes at his first sip.

“ _Ahhh_ , that hits the spot for sure, babe. Thanks.” And he slaps Steve on the shoulder as he kicks his flip flops off and heads toward the kitchen, making appreciative sounds as the smells from the oven hit his senses.

Steve tries not to look _too_ pleased with himself, and follows Danny back to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon, Danno,” he says as he peeks in on the chicken to see how it’s doing—almost ready, he notes. Grabbing the rolls and salad off the counter to take to the dining room, Steve notices Danny looking at him with a bit of a squint. But then Danny takes another sip of his drink and seems to forget whatever he’d been thinking, and turns to follow Steve.

He’d set the table in the dining room, and lit the candles on the table. He figured Danny would notice that, and comment, probably something snarky, so when Danny leaves his drink at his place and wanders after Steve back to the kitchen, and stands there, silently watching with that slightly squinty look again, he isn’t sure what to make of it. Finally Danny speaks.

“Is this what you’re like on dates?”

Steve’s just taken a sip of his daiquiri, and he nearly chokes on it. (Lime up the nose is not enjoyable, can I just point out.)

“Easy there, babe,” Danny soothes, patting Steve softly on the back.

When Steve clears the tears out of his eyes and can breathe again, he sees Danny smiling in amusement. But he doesn’t ask again, so Steve pulls the chicken out of the oven and dishes up the potatoes and green beans, asking Danny to take them to the table, following with the chicken and the carving knife.

The food evidently makes Danny forget about teasing Steve. In fact, he seems to enjoy it so much that Steve spends most of the meal kicking himself that he’s never done this for Danny before. They don’t talk much while they eat, but it’s actually kind of nice, and Danny drinks just enough that Steve can watch the tension melt from his body.

Getting up to clear the table after they finish eating, Steve suggests to Danny that he head in and pick something to watch. Steve regularly saves things to his DVR for them to watch together, partly because Steve never watches TV alone, and partly because he knows that Danny’s DVR is perennially filled with Charlie’s cartoons. So, Danny knows right where to look. Steve’s pulse flutters a little when he hears Danny reacting to the options.

“Who saved these movies, babe? My teenage daughter?”

Steve gulps. “I, ah, thought something light would be nice,” he tries, unconvincingly, knowing full well Danny will never buy it.

“Uh-huh, sure,” comes the reply. But almost immediately, he hears a studio theme start, so Danny’s obviously found something to which he doesn’t object too much.

Steve brings out a tray of drinks and snacks—delicate crystal cordial glasses and a carafe of homemade sweet spiced rum; tiny butterscotch cookies on one of his grandmother’s floral dessert dishes; and his own (he’d like to say famous) macadamia nut brittle in a rustic koa wood bowl Mary made years ago in school. He grabs the blanket off the back of the recliner, tossing it on the arm of the sofa, mostly because it gives him the excuse of sitting that much closer to Danny.

Danny eyes the items on the tray, looking sideways at Steve with that squinty expression again, then shrugging slightly, leans back and presses play. Filling the glasses carefully, Steve hands one to Danny, and offers his for a toast.

“To a relaxing evening,” he says, and almost immediately regrets it.

Danny sighs a tad dramatically, but clinks his glass with Steve’s, and makes appreciative noises. “Oh, that’s nice, babe,” he murmurs, and settles more easily against Steve’s side, a nice step considerably _more_ cozy than their usual movie-watching positions—which Steve takes to mean the rum is working. Steve wraps his arm around the back of the sofa, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

The drink goes down really easy. A little too easy, Steve realizes too late. His plan very much involves Danny getting (and _staying_ ) tipsy. But he hadn’t counted on getting inebriated himself. He thinks about setting his drink down and eating something to balance the liquor out, but he decides he doesn’t want Danny getting any ideas, so he keeps a hold on his glass and keeps sipping—slowly. About a quarter of the way through the movie, Danny pauses to use the bathroom, and he takes Steve’s empty glass from him as he set his own down on the table. Swaying a bit as he stands, Danny giggles.

“I think you’re trying to get me drunk.” And he staggers off towards the hall. Steve isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears Danny add “so you can have your way with me” under his breath as he goes.

When he comes back, Steve has poured a little more into each of their glasses, which makes Danny roll his eyes and glare at him, but then when he sits back on the sofa, he doesn’t so much _sit_ as basically lay down with his head in Steve’s lap and his feet off the edge of the sofa, so Steve doesn’t think he really minded all that much.

“Press play, babe,” Danny instructs, as he makes himself comfortable, as though this was something they did normally, rather than something Steve had often thought of but never dared hope for.

He’d wanted Danny to fucking relax. To let go of his uptight, world-on-my-shoulders, dark and grim and bleak outlook on all things, just for one evening. And to hopefully have some of that carry over for at least part of one week. He hadn’t imagined—or he thought he hadn’t imagined—that he would achieve not just that, but _this_... whatever this was. He supposes it’s possible that Danny is, simply, messing with him. That he somehow latched onto this being how Steve is on a date, and decided out of some snarky vindictiveness to play with that. Steve’s buzzed enough to not be sure if there is more to it than that, and he’s also buzzed enough to not be able to suppress his increasingly unavoidable desire for there to _be_ a whole lot more to it than just that.

Quite possibly he’s created a bit of a mess for himself.

But somehow he can’t quite bring himself to really worry about that. If Danny _is_ teasing him, he is at the very least, on his sofa with Danny’s head in his lap... and if that’s all it will be, he at least can take comfort in it during many a lonely and sleepless night to come.

And if it _is_ more?

Steve shushes himself before he can get lost down that path.

“What’s that, babe?” Danny looks up at him, his face so sweetly soft in the flickering light of the television.

Steve’s heart flies into his throat. Crap, had he shushed out loud? “Uh, nothing,” he stammers.

Danny smiles, and puts a hand up to Steve’s face. “Okay, babe,” and turns back to the movie.

But before Steve can begin to recover from that, Danny’s hand is back, resting on Steve’s arm, and rubbing soft circles with his thumb. Steve doesn’t mean to, at least he thinks he doesn’t, but his hand is resting on his leg against the top of Danny’s head, and when Danny pushes his head against Steve’s leg and makes a low grunt, Steve realizes he’s been tangling his fingers in the surprisingly soft sun bleached hair that’s usually so slicked back it barely moves in the wind. It occurs to him that Danny must have showered before he came over, and that realization does some seriously strange things to Steve’s gut.

Still, his fingers, almost of their own volition, keep twining themselves in Danny’s hair, and Danny keeps rubbing circles on Steve’s arm. Heat pools in his belly, he feels flushed, and more than just from drink. He’s in increasing danger of finding himself not in control of the situation, and it terrifies him. Then something funny happens in the movie, and Danny laughs, hard, and sits up abruptly, popping a cookie in his mouth and grabbing his drink—also, and this intrigues Steve, handing Steve’s glass to him, an oddly purposeful look in his slightly dazed eyes. Then he flips himself around, and sits with his feet in Steve’s lap, his back resting against the arm of the sofa. Steve looks down at his drink, takes a small—very small—sip, then looks back at the movie and tries, failingly, to pay attention.

It’s maybe ten minutes or so before he notices that Danny’s not watching the movie, he’s watching Steve. That squinty look has returned, but it’s softer—more thoughtful and less accusatory, perhaps. When Danny catches Steve looking, he wiggles his feet, then downs the rest of his drink, sets the glass on the table, takes Steve’s from him, and moves, sideways on the sofa, towards Steve.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a dick lately,” he whispers as he nears. “I’ve been obsessing over... well. Too many things. And I haven’t been paying enough attention to you. And I’m sorry.”

Steve feels something catch in his throat—probably his heart again—and he swallows around it. “No, I’ve been insensitive and... jealous. I should be doing more to make sure you’re doing okay. I know the divorce is hard on everyone.” He pauses, tries to swallow again. “I just hate seeing you so stressed out.”

Danny grins, crookedly, and moves closer. He presses his knee into Steve’s thigh, and it’s sharp and it hurts and Steve is grateful for the pain because it helps him focus. “Jealous, huh?” And of course that’s the one line Danny picked up on. “Because I’m spending too much time with Rachel and the kids and not enough with you?”

When you put it like that, it makes Steve feel like a real jerk. He says nothing. He doesn’t dare. Because the answer is _Well, yeah. Duh._ And it makes his head spin. (That might be the rum, though.)

Danny puts his hand on Steve’s cheek again, and he can’t help it, he leans into it and probably purrs like a cat. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” But Danny doesn’t exactly wait for an answer, because he’s pushed himself towards Steve’s chest, and as he exhales, he leans just a couple inches closer, and his lips are on Steve’s, and his hand has gone around the back of Steve’s neck and is tugging him close, and a sound that’s almost a whimper comes from one of them and Steve’s really not altogether sure which of them made it, but the kiss is suddenly kind of frantic, and completely fabulous, and this was _not_ what Steve had in mind but it’s so fucking much better and why _wasn’t_ this what he had in mind, and, well, maybe it actually was.

Danny pulls back and looks Steve in the eyes, and says “Shush, now. Stop thinking about it,” and that’s supposed to be _his_ line, what the heck? And he wants to laugh, but Danny’s tongue is in the way, and shit but that’s even better, and somehow, with his magical abilities, Danny’s switched off the TV, and he’s pulling Steve up as he tries to stand and almost falls over, and Steve doesn’t think there’s any way they’ll make it up the stairs like this without one or probably both of them getting injured, but Danny has more faith in them than that, and somehow, miraculously, they’re falling through the doorway into Steve’s room, and he guesses it’s good that he didn’t make the bed that morning, because they land right in the middle, and Danny’s pulling both his shirts off at once and mumbling something about Steve making him uptight, and Steve struggles out of his own shirt, and shudders when Danny hisses and falls on him, skin on skin, sparking almost electrically, and this is what happens when you drink the rum, he manages to think before he feels like he’s drowning in sunshine and kisses and Danny... and it’s the most amazing thing ever in the history of things, and shut the fuck up would you now, and just kiss....

Eventually, when they pull apart, having exhausted themselves, Danny is languidly tangling his fingers in Steve’s, and muttering half sentences about over thinking things, and trying to control things, and managing him like he’s a performing animal, versus just being honest and realizing what’s really going on, and using words, and does Steve even understand, and Steve thinks: _Yeah, I’m starting to get it_. And that makes Danny smile, which is kind of strange. And Danny rests his head on Steve’s chest, murmuring about having thought about this for far too long, and it occurs to Steve—and he can’t believe he never thought of it before—that _this_ , this is exactly how to keep Danny from getting too uptight. And Danny laughs. “You’re probably right, there, babe,” and kisses Steve’s fingers, and Steve wonders how much of that he actually said out loud, and Danny whispers “All of it, now sleep,” and, completely wonderfully, they do.


	26. Pizza Doesn’t Have to Be Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny’s been over obsessing about the pizza recipe, so Steve takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think every chapter starts like this, but: it’s been far far far too long since a chapter here. To be fair, I’ve begun several, and they’ve turned into stories in their own right. But finally, this came to me in the night and demanded to be written....
> 
>  ******* I am very very behind on watching the show, so please, do not say, if anything in here relates to an episode about the restaurant, please.

Danny’s been obsessing over the pizza recipe. By which Steve means: Danny has been way overly obsessing about the pizza recipe. Steve likes to think he’s really very used to Danny’s obsessing about things at this point. It is kind of a constant. But this has gotten to the point of absurdity. Actually, Steve’s pretty sure they passed the exit for Absurd several, blurry miles back.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do. Which is take pizza down a few notches. By which he means, take _Danny_ down a few notches.

The idea comes to him one Friday, as they’re sitting at Kamekona’s having beers and a few shrimp before heading home, after a week of easy and well solved cases. (Steve’s noticed, of course, that it makes it worse, when the cases are easy—Danny has less distracting him, so more of his energy goes to the obsessing.) Danny’s starting to twitch, as he anxiously peels the label back from his beer, his leg bouncing slightly in the sand, vibrating the bench softly.

Steve sighs.

“Wanna go surfing tomorrow, buddy?” He tries.

“Naw, babe, I’ve got Charlie for the day, then I was gonna work on the sauce some more.”

“How about you come to mine for a bit after you drop Charlie off home? I have something I want you to look at.”

Danny’s a pretty suspicious guy, so when that vague (and frankly, _false_ ) statement somehow slides by, unremarked upon, Steve’s concern ratchets up a few clicks of the dial.

“Yeah, okay, babe. I’ll swing by around five?”

“Sounds great, buddy,” Steve says, slinging his arm around Danny, and leaving it there for a bit longer than usual, because it seems to him that it relaxes Danny.

They soon finish their beers and head their separate ways—Danny home to clean the house before Charlie comes over, and Steve... well, Steve goes to the grocery store to plot his next move.  
  


Around four, Steve starts to get ready. He’s slipped a little, in his resolve to tackle Danny’s pizza-obsessing, so he pulls out his liquid courage—that trusty Naval Strength Rum—downs a shot, and pushes forward. His plan, he thinks, is fairly certain to succeed. It’s all going to come down to _presentation_ , because Danny’s so twitchy about Steve interfering in all things restaurant related (this is how partnerships should be, in Danny’s mind, Steve’s come to understand). Unfortunately, that’s the one thing he hasn’t quite worked out.

You see, it’s French Bread Pizza. Because, what better way to kick the pizza elitist off his high horse—and oh, does he need kicking off that horse—than with the ultimate in cheater’s, low-brow, busy mom’s, not-really-pizza, pizza. There had been a lot of French Bread Pizza consumed in Steve’s childhood. He hasn’t met many people his age who don’t have the same childhood memories. Strangely, the topic’s never come up with Danny. So he knows he’s a little out on a ledge. But he figures even if Danny’s mom wasn’t the “it’s Friday night and the kids are begging for pizza but we’re on a budget thank you very much” type, he’ll have still had the ubiquitous meal at a friend’s house. It would have been impossible to escape the 80s without it.

His choice of toppings is where he’s going a little bit more toward where angels fear to tread.

Because there’s a can of pineapple sitting there on the counter, and he knows—yeah, he knows full well—he’s courting danger.

He’s picked the jar of sauce his mom always used, and he knows Danny will cringe. It’s far too sweet, for starters, and the herbs are probably the wrong ones, and it’s probably too thin, and yes, it’s spaghetti sauce, not pizza sauce, but that’s kind of the whole point.

Steve preheats the oven, and starts to assemble the pizzas. One with ham and pineapple, one with olives, peppers, mushrooms, and sausage. As he precooks the sausage, he downs another shot of the liquid courage, and as the smells start to mingle, he begins to feel more confident.

Once he’s put the pizzas in the oven, he looks at the bottle of rum and decides that he’s getting Danny to drink _that_ rather than beer or wine—partly because beer and _especially_ wine tends too often to lead to conversations about what drinks they should serve at the restaurant, and the various merits of having a wine pairing menu, if only on special nights. Steve thinks that if he has to listen to Danny explain why certain wines go better with tomato sauce one more time he might honestly have to kiss Danny to shut him up.

Um.

He meant _punch_ him.

Where’d that other thought come from? He must be more nervous than he’d thought. Better have another shot.

The pizzas are smelling really good, and maybe Steve’s remembering hanging out in the kitchen with Mary while their mom made them. Maybe it had been a bit dumb of him to go with her exact toppings. He just hadn’t been able to think of anything else. He starts to grow a bit maudlin, and to hold himself back from that, starts to nibble on the leftover toppings. The sausage and pineapple go well together, he decides, especially with the salty tang from the olives. And maybe now he’s being silly, so he chases the flavors down with more of the rum, and pulls his back-up bottle from the freezer.

He’s trying to think of what drink to make with the rum when he hears the front door close. Suddenly Danny’s there, in the kitchen, sniffing suspiciously, and eyeing Steve like he has three heads.

“Whatcha doin’, babe?” He asks, as he tilts the nearly empty bottle of rum while glancing at the still-unopened one sitting next to it. He pours the last of the one bottle into Steve’s shot glass and downs it. “How far behind am I?”

“Uhhh....” Steve seems to be unable to remember. “Not sure,” he admits, grinning.

Danny licks his lips, pressing them together to stop the smile, then nods. He opens the other bottle, gets himself a larger glass from the cupboard, and some ice from the freezer, pouring himself several fingers worth and sipping at it while regarding Steve with amusement.

“So,” he prompts, when Steve still says nothing by way of explaining.

“Just thought I’d make us some food, we can have a chat.”

Danny’s eyebrows go up. “Oh? A chat? About what?”

Steve shrugs, and for some reason stumbles a little bit. That’s weird. He leans up against the counter, trying to look relaxed and casual. “Oh, you know, whatever?”

He’s pretty sure Danny tries to hide it, but he doesn’t really succeed, because a tiny spit of his laugh escapes. “Alright.”

He takes another sip, watching Steve (who has decided that moving isn’t in his best interest) closely.

The timer dings, and Steve tries to straighten himself, to check on the pizzas.

“Let me,” Danny says, putting a hand against Steve’s chest to hold him still, grabbing the oven mittens from the counter, and opening the oven. He sets the tray on the stove, and Steve has to crane his neck to look and see how they turned out. He smiles when he sees, they look just like his mom’s.

Danny turns to look at Steve, as he pulls the mitts off and thumps them on the counter with what seems to Steve to be a little more emphasis than was really necessary.

“They turned out well,” Steve offers.

“Yeah, they look just like mom used to make,” Danny agrees, and Steve feels a tug in his belly at that. He hadn’t dared hope. The tug in his belly turns to something more when Danny looks him up and down far too closely, then turns back to the pizzas. “I’ll cut these and bring them to the table. D’you think you can manage to set the table, babe?”

“Uh, yep,” Steve puts too much pop on the “p” and cringes, but he pulls the placemats out of the drawer, stacks them on top of two plates, and heads to the dining room. He’s pretty sure the placemats are crooked, but he sets the plates on them and stands looking at it, feeling proud. He turns the light on over the table, but it’s too bright, so he turns it off, and goes to find the matches to light the candles that are still on the table from Danny’s last recipe-tasting dinner. (Ambiance, evidently, matters.)

When Danny comes out with the slices of pizza on a platter, carrying his glass and another like it which he sets at Steve’s place, Steve’s sitting down, the candles are lit, and he’s feeling pretty dang pleased with himself. Until he takes a sip of his drink and finds it’s water. 

“Heyyy,” he slurs, and then it occurs to him that he’s drunk, and he shuts up.

Danny, amused, shakes his head, and hesitates between the pizza choices. He takes a sip of his rum, then reaches for a slice with pineapple and ham. “I cannot believe I’m about to do this,” he mutters, as he lifts it to his lips.... Steve finds he can’t look away.

“Well?”

Danny shrugs, sets the slice down, and washes it down with another gulp of the rum. “It’s definitely French Bread Pizza, babe.” But his tone is soft. It’s sweet. And maybe it’s because Steve’s a little more inebriated than he’d intended, but it makes him really really happy.

They eat the pizza, all of it, and Danny finishes his drink, and goes to get more, but comes back with water, and when they’re done and clearing the dishes, Steve needs something... _more_.

“So?” And he’s closer to Danny than he’d realized. He’s right up against Danny, and he’s not sure how that happened. But he’s pressing himself against Danny’s back, as he stands at the sink, rinsing the plates. Danny’s chest vibrates in response, and he leans his back against Steve, who lets his hands come to rest at Danny’s hips, and he doesn’t mean to, but he tugs just slightly, till Danny’s resting against his full body. He feels the deep breath and slow exhalation through their clothes, and he shivers.

“You made your point, Steven. Quite well.”

Steve smirks, but then he realizes he’s not entirely sure which bits Danny means. “Did I?” He mutters, into Danny’s hair. Danny’s silky, clean-smelling hair. There’s no product in it, he realizes. And his fingers ache to touch.

“Yeah. You did. I know I’ve been obsessing. And not in a good way. And, strangely, this actually helped me think more clearly about what I’m after with the sauce, so, thank you for that.”

Steve thinks he’s pleased, with the words, with the realization, the admission behind them, but it’s too much talking, and he’s pretty sure Danny’s lips could be put to better use. He backs up till his butt hits the island, and he pulls Danny with him, flipping him around, and ducking down to lower his face closer to his partner’s. “I’m glad,” he whispers, breathing in sharp gasps he tries to smooth.

Danny sighs, then meets Steve in a tentative, awkward kiss that lasts only for a moment. “You. Are drunk,” Danny exhales onto Steve’s bereft lips.

“Yeah. And you are hot.”

Danny laughs, and he presses himself against Steve, making it clear the sentiment is shared. “I’m not doing this while you’re drunk, babe.”

Steve slumps against the counter, and Danny sort of collapses against his chest, brining his hand up to rest on the side of Steve’s neck. “It’s still early,” Steve points out. “Make me coffee?”

Nodding, Danny moves reluctantly away and Steve feels cold, but forces himself to stay still, rather than follow Danny across the kitchen. He puts the water for the French press on, then comes back and slides against Steve’s side, wrapping his arms around his chest, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. Steve’s arms encircle Danny, and he’s using him as a support, but he knows Danny doesn’t mind, and they stand there like that till the water boils, then Danny makes the coffee, pours them both big mugs of it, and they stand there, leaning gently against each other, sipping coffee, as it grows slowly dark.

“Maybe we put it on the kid’s menu,” Danny says, setting his mug aside. “Because they’re faster to make, and that’s a nice option to have for impatient, fidgety kids.” ( _Like Charlie_ doesn’t need saying.)

“Yeah? That’d be fun.”

“ _But no pineapple_.”

Steve laughs. “Okay, buddy. No pineapple.”

Danny takes his mug from him, and sets it down, slotting himself against Steve.

“I’m still...” Steve begins.

“I know.” Danny wraps his hands behind Steve’s neck and pulls him closer. “I know you are. But I think you know exactly what you’re doing all the same.” He tries to kiss Steve, but he’s smiling too hugely in response. “Stop grinning and kiss me, you idiot.” And so he does.

“You taste like pineapple,” Steve mutters against Danny’s lips.

“And you taste like crappy tomato sauce, babe, but I still love you.” And Steve’s had enough, he lifts Danny up, flips them around and sets his ass down on the counter, so he has better access to those infuriating lips. “Just for the record,” Danny mumbles through their kisses, gesturing to his position on the counter. “Don’t ever do that in the restaurant.”

“Only at home, buddy, only at home,” Steve replies, and when Danny shudders in response, he knows he means it. Home. And he draws Danny tighter in his arms, and he knows he’s finally figured out how to get Danny to stop obsessing.

Which isn’t half bad for French Bread Pizza and a jar of store bought sauce.


	27. The Keys to a Happy New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something soft and sweet and unedited my feelings needed this morning.... Happy New Year to you all! <3
> 
> (I am slowly catching up with episodes, and writing a couple post-episode/missing scene type things... but it’s slow going I’m afraid. Hopefully this loosened the gears a little. :-)

They were sitting, somewhat more entwined than they were typically want to do, by the light of the Christmas tree, faint music still playing in the background, the litter of presents and paper and ribbon scattered around them on the floor. Both kids were in their beds, upstairs, though Steve doubted they were actually sleeping yet. The evening had, in Danny’s own words, gotten a little out of hand. But Steve hadn’t minded. No, that wasn’t fair. Steve had loved it.

It had been his idea in the first place. They’d wound up with a case Christmas eve, and Danny’d missed having that time with the kids, and he’d tried to hide it, but Steve knew, in that way he seemed to have lately, just knew in his bones, that it broke Danny’s perennially half-broken heart. He’d wanted to fix it—no, that’s not quite right—he’d _needed_ to fix it. It was a physical ache inside him these days, when Danny hurt. Physically, yes. But emotionally, too. Increasingly, Steve was able to do little else when Danny was like that... dripping with regret and pain and resentment and bitterness and hurt, so much hurt. Steve wished he could go back in time and find that first place Danny’d been sent down that path, and take him in his arms and lead him the other way.

He couldn’t, of course. But he could do this.

And so he’d invited all three members of the Williams family to his place for New Year’s Eve... less for a New Year celebration, more for making up for that lost Christmas Eve. Grace had been the hardest to convince. She’d wanted to go be with friends. Steve had almost given up, but then he’d said something—he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it had been, but she’d shifted... given him a look, deep in his eyes, searching, and something between understanding and relief had flooded her expression, and she’d given in, enthusiastically, and wound up helping him plan everything, from the menu of cold cuts and rolls and plates of pickles and olives and the kind of mustard, laid out like a buffet, to the music she put on his phone, to the virtual fireplace she pulled up somehow on his TV, to the gift that still lay, unopened, underneath the tree.

Danny’d eyed the gift, when they were handing them out after they’d eaten and played games for too long. Grace had held it back, glancing and Steve, who’d smiled and nodded. Somehow, Danny’d known it was for him. Steve just hadn’t worked the courage up to give it to him.

Once the kids had headed up to get ready for bed, Steve had made Danny leave the dishes for the next morning, had grabbed onto his hand to hold him back from tidying up, and he hadn’t really let go. They typically rested close together when they sat on the sofa to watch a movie or a game, so there was nothing extraordinary in it. But it felt different. Maybe because the kids were upstairs. Maybe because Danny’s kids were in Steve’s house. That felt different. That... that felt wonderful, and Steve hadn’t really been prepared for that. The smell of mint and soap when Charlie had come back downstairs to hug and kiss him goodnight, the smell of apples and freesia, from Grace’s wet hair as she whispered in his ear “ _Good luck_.”

Danny’d caught that interaction—not the words, but that it had happened, and he’d narrowed his eyes at Steve, only to be distracted by his daughter kissing him on the cheek and telling him to behave.

“ _You_ behave,” he’d called back to her, then turned to Steve. “What was that about, huh, babe?”

Steve had shrugged, but he was pretty sure he’d blushed as well. Danny’d looked sideways at him, but hadn’t pushed it, and they’d ended up so close to cuddling, Steve hadn’t wanted to move.

And so they were, close to midnight now, cozily ensconced on the couch, fingers brushing lazily against each others’ hands, shoulders leaning heavily against each other, bodies warm where they met, breaths synchronized, deep and slow. Steve was almost lulled into a false sense of security, and he was near to drifting off, when Danny stirred.

“So, what’s in the last package, babe?”

Steve smiled, against his will. Of course Danny wouldn’t let that go.

“Oh, just a little something symbolic,” Steve replied, softly, against Danny’s head, which was resting beneath his chin.

“Oh, yeah?” Danny asked, sounding intrigued.

“Go on, then,” Steve said, smiling, swallowing down his last remaining fears, as he let go of Danny’s hand and let him get up to retrieve the present from under the tree.

The package was small and square and flat, but not light, and Steve was pretty sure he’d wrapped it well enough that it wouldn’t make a noise if Danny—which he did—shook it.

When he sat back down, he sat further away from Steve, sideways, facing him, his knee pressing into Steve’s thigh almost painfully, the look on his face eager but also, Steve thought, a little bit anxious. He slipped the ribbon off, and tore at the red and green paper. A small box fell into his hand, and he looked at it, looked at Steve, and then lifted off the lid. The keys jangled once they were free from their tight wrapping, the pineapple charm glinting in the tree’s lights. Danny held them up, and fixed Steve with an intrigued gaze.

Licking his lips and preparing to explain, Steve felt his breath catch in his chest, his heart suddenly deciding it wasn’t going to beat till Danny reacted.

“Keys to my truck and my house,” he breathed out, his voice wavering.

“Babe, I have keys to your truck and your house.”

And suddenly, Steve knew he was okay. “I know, Danny. But you have those because of work. You have those because you bullied them out of me, guilted them out of me, threatened them out of me.”

Danny started to look like he was going to defend himself against those accusations, but Steve stopped him.

“These keys are yours because I want you to have them. Not in case of emergency, not so that you don’t freak out when I don’t answer the door, not so you can take my truck when I’ve taken the Camaro. These keys I want you to have because I want you—” his breath caught again, and he had to stop and force it. “Because I want you to know that they’re yours. My house, my truck... my heart.”

The last two words were breathless, almost silent, and he thought it was an eternity after he said them before Danny reacted.

“I did know that,” Danny finally whispered, grasping them tightly in his hand.

“ _But it’s nice to be told_.” They said it at the same time, and then they laughed, softly, lightly, and they leaned in for a kiss, meeting half way, pressing rough lips against each other, as though it was something they’d done many times before.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught a blur of movement, and as he pulled back, saw Grace standing at the top of the stairs, smiling. She blew him a kiss and turned back to her room before Danny saw.

Danny settled against Steve’s side, still holding on to the keys with one hand, his other finding Steve’s and bringing it up to his lips.

“Thank you, babe. It’s perfect. _This_ is perfect. All of it.”

Steve pulled Danny closer, wanting to wrap him up tightly and not ever let go. “Happy New Year, Danny,” he said, into Danny’s hair.

“Happy New Year, babe,” Danny yawned, and snuggled up even closer, making it clear he wasn’t letting Steve up.

Knowing he’d probably regret it in the morning, Steve made himself as comfortable as he could, and felt the smile on his lips spread across his face as he slowly drifted off to sleep.


	28. This Time Don’t Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m stumbling over my episode 11 story, and now also working on an episode 12 one-- (and that's where I'm caught up to, so still, no spoilers, please). Hopefully I'll post those next week! 
> 
> In the meantime, here’s this little bit of comfort fic I needed.....

Danny’s been sick all week. Well. He’s been _getting_ sick. Steve has seen it coming, he usually does. It starts with a kind of glum, crabby, clunkiness. Dull, plodding, unenergetic... not necessarily sleepy, just... not as engaged as Danny usually is.

Alright, alright, Steve always knows when Danny is getting sick because he doesn’t bother, irk, harass, and otherwise completely drive Steve insane. He doesn’t yell at him, he doesn’t push his buttons, doesn’t scold, lecture, harangue, or otherwise torment Steve.

Happy?

Because Steve isn’t.

If you noticed this pattern, of Danny being sick and Steve being less irritated, and if you saw that Steve actually kind of enjoys it, you might think to ask him why. And he would make a big deal about how nice it is to be able to drive the way he likes, and eat the way he likes, and fucking even surf the way he likes, without being yelled at, criticized, or otherwise scolded. But if you saw what follows after that... you’d know.

Because really, it’s that when Danny is sick, he lets Steve take care of him. And Steve likes taking care of Danny. Kind of a lot.

He’d do it without Danny being sick. Gladly. And it isn’t like he doesn’t _try_. But dangit. Danny, when he’s not sick, gets far too touchy and uptight and all obsessive and worried and fourteen other things, and it keeps Steve from being able to do it how he really _wants_. So he usually gives in. By which he means, gives _up_.

So, being presented with an opportunity, after a reasonably long healthy spell, of getting to take care of Danny, well, one might imagine that Steve would be looking forward to that. He’s kind of surprised that he’s not, to be honest. And he’s not really sure _why_. And for some reason, that’s making him kind of mad at Danny. Which he knows makes no sense, but... well, he kind of can’t help it, alright?

Which maybe explains a little bit why he finally gives in and sends Danny home with something that might almost be called _rage_.

Tani stands in the corner, staring, gape-mouthed at him, while Danny simply storms out without a word. Junior and Lou are in Lou’s office, and they stay there, pretending to be so busy learning a new system for logging files they don’t notice. They don’t come out until after Steve leaves, a full hour later, having spent most of that hour in his office being yelled at by Tani.

He really should give her a raise.

So it is that Steve drives away from HQ, well before the end of the day, thoroughly scolded, holding a list of things to go get for Danny, and thinking that just maybe he understands why he’s so fucking upset. Tani sure seems to think she knows why, and though Steve protested—strongly at first, weakly by the end—he’s pretty sure, as he gets closer to Danny’s, bags full of supplies on the seat next to him, that she’s _right_.

What he’s very much _not_ sure about is what the hell the right thing is to do about it.

He thinks that maybe Tani knew that. Hence the list. So, he pulls up to Danny’s, lets himself in, sees that Danny’s passed out in bed, heads to the kitchen to make soup, puts away things for drinks and various meds, swallows two gulps of Danny’s whiskey, and tries not to think about what he’s done.

Once the soup is ready, he leaves it on the stove, lid on tight, and slinks into Danny’s room to see how he’s doing. The air is thick and oppressive, the shutters closed tight, the fan not on, piles of dirty clothes and wet towels litter the floor... the kinds of things that ordinarily send Steve into fits of irritation, and not just because of his military background, but because it hurts him that Danny doesn’t take better care of himself. Sighing softly and clenching a mug of the tea Tani made him get, Steve sits carefully at the end of the bed, trying not to disturb Danny, but somehow needing to be _close_. Danny looks mostly peaceful but pale, almost clammy. Steve worries he’s really sick this time. Not just a cold, maybe something worse. Steve thinks that too easily, he tells himself. Every time Danny’s not well. Every single fucking time. He sees him collapsing on the ground, unable to breathe. He’s grown sort of good at talking himself down from that panic over the years. So why this time has it got to him so much deeper? Did he run out of being able to stop the cascade of terror? Is he getting sick himself? What’s going on now that he can’t stop the pulse of panic that floods his chest when he looks and sees Danny look... weak, pale, _faded_.

Steve needs Danny strong. He needs him vibrant. He needs that pull, that push, the fighting, the bickering, the yelling. It feeds him, fuels him, keeps him afloat. Without it, Steve starts to sink, starts to drown, feels himself falling.... Feels his demons catching up to him. Danny keeps those monsters at bay, keeps the shadows from his mind, keeps Steve’s sights on the target. Keeps him going. When Danny’s bright, Steve can do what he needs to do, to do his job. He can take the dive, he can make the leap, run through the fire.

But with Danny like this, Steve looses all that. He just does. And he hates that. And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Oh my god, I can hear you thinking from here.”

Steve startles, looks at Danny, who still looks asleep, beads of sweat showing on his brow, face tense.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, in case Danny’s really still asleep and just talking in his sleep.

“Yeah, you did, babe. Put that awful tea down and come here.”

Steve looks down at the mug, which he didn’t think was all that bad, maybe Danny’s smeller is messed up. Still, he puts it on the side table and crawls carefully across the bed to lie down next to Danny. As he often lets himself do when Danny’s sick.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Are you going to argue with everything I say?”

“Yes.”

Steve chuckles softly. He can’t be that sick, then, he tells himself. “Okay.” He reaches a hand out to wipe the perspiration back from Danny’s forehead. “I am sorry though. I hate it when you’re sick.”

Danny laughs, weakly, but it’s a laugh. “Babe, no you don’t. You love it because I do what you tell me to.”

Steve pulls back at that. He’s told himself that Danny hadn’t... what? Caught on? Realized? That he’s always been too sick to really see what Steve gets out of it, out of taking care of Danny. He should have known better. But... does that mean...? If Danny knew... and let him....

“Why do you do that, Danny?”

Danny grins. “Maybe I like it.”

“What, being told what to do?”

“No, you always tell me what to do. It’s different when I’m sick. _You’re_ different when I’m sick.”

This surprises Steve. “I am?”

Danny laughs again, softer this time. “Yeah, babe, you are. Now shut up and hold me. I’m cold.”

Steve scoots closer, reaching out to wrap his arm around Danny, pull him close. Danny settles against his side, reaching a hand out to Steve’s shirt, playing with the buttons.

“I don’t really mind you yelling at me, you know. But I think maybe we might talk about why you got so upset this time.”

Steve looks carefully at Danny, but says nothing.

Danny keeps playing with the buttons, letting them slip out of their holes, slowly progressing until Steve’s shirt is undone all the way. Gasping softly, Danny puts his hand over Steve’s heart. “Why do you think you did, huh?”

He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of Danny, and he _knows_. He’s not sure he can put it to words, though.

“I think...” he starts. “I think....” He sighs.

Danny lifts his hand away from Steve’s chest, replaces it with his face, nuzzling softly against the tan skin there, the contrast making him look even more pale and listless. Steve shivers.

“Sorry,” Danny mutters, to Steve’s chest hairs.

As if to say, _please don’t be_ , Steve increases the pressure of his arm around Danny, squeezing him reassuringly. Or maybe it’s himself he’s trying to reassure. Either way, it’s clear Danny likes it, and he mumbles something incoherent against Steve’s skin.

“What’s that, buddy?” Steve asks softly.

Danny puffs out a soft breath, ticking Steve’s hairs, eliciting another shiver. “ _I like this_ ,” he says, with forced clarity, and a hint of resentment.

His heart soars and sinks at the same time, and he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t say something. So he tries. Again. “I do too and I’m tired of only having it when you’re sick.” One breath, thrown out of his chest before he can think the better of it.

He feels Danny’s smile. And suddenly he’s the one in a cold sweat. But then Danny presses a kiss to Steve’s chest, and his heart swoops. “I know.”

“ _How_.”

The smile gets bigger. “The yelling.”

“Um. _What_?”

“You only yell at me like that when you’re panicking. When you’re afraid. When you’re losing control.”

Steve swallows awkwardly. He has a feeling Danny’s right. He hates that he’s that transparent. Hates that Danny knew it better than he did. But, then again.... Maybe he doesn’t. Or shouldn’t. Because isn’t that kind of exactly why he loves Danny, why Danny’s gotten in so deeply under his skin, made himself so irreplaceable in Steve’s heart, in his life? He thinks probably it is.

“Okay, so....”

“Seriously. You’re thinking way too loudly. I’m sick here, just shut up and hold me, and this time.... This time, don’t stop when I get better.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Yeah, babe, I know you can.” And he presses another kiss against Steve’s skin as he’s falling back asleep, but he looks much calmer, much more at peace. Much happier.

Steve thinks he knows exactly how he feels.


	29. Winter Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny’s got a case of the winter crabbiness, really, more than “blues.”
> 
> Steve, obviously, helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More completely frivolous I don’t even know what to call it. And since you don’t mind when I post really ridiculous silly foofy fluff.... This happened because I needed it and hoped you would too.....
> 
> You enable me, you do realize this.......

It doesn’t make any sense, he knows this, for Danny to have the winter blues in fucking Hawaii. But he does. He gets them every year, just as he would have living under ten feet of snow with negative ten degree wind chill, it just doesn’t matter that it’s sunny and seventy five and a nice breeze off the goddamn ocean.

Honestly, he thinks probably it’s worse.

He’s been in a vile mood, he’ll admit it. Easily. Nothing contents him for long, nothing gives him that feeling of being _happy_. The only thing he wants to do is eat soup, drink hot drinks, hide under a blanket on the sofa, and watch the winter Olympics.

Okay, so it occurs to him that maybe there’s some kind of programming going on with this, that he typically is crabby during the winter Olympics because it’s, well, _winter_. And, admittedly, it has been rainy and a bit on the gloomy side of things. And probably the grim case load hasn’t helped. They’d worked the past three weekends straight, so Steve’s insisted they all take some time this week to recoup.

And that might actually be making things worse, because Rachel’s taken the kids on a mid-winter break, and seriously, who does that when you already live in tropical paradise? And being home alone with nothing to do (okay, there’s an actual mountain of laundry blocking the path to the back door, and he should make some effort to tackle that, especially as he’s pretty sure he saw it _move_ last night) is really starting to wear on him.

It’s been three hours.

Yep. Three whole hours since Steve sent them all home—theoretically because HPD was doing some updates on the server software and they wouldn’t be able to work on anything anyway, but Danny’s pretty sure it was more because he was in such a bad mood and not hiding it and he actually saw Junior flinch when he yelled at Steve, and the kid’s pretty unshakable, so....

But three hours into a supposed 48 hour break and Danny’s about to go insane.

This is so not going to be fun.

He pulls the blanket up to his chest, slouches down in that way that always got him yelled at as a kid, that he secretly feels so good doing as an adult, and wishes he had the energy or the desire to get up and make himself some sort of fun drink or snack or something, and pulls up the full-event-replay list on the Olympics app on the TV.

The thing he likes about the team curling, as opposed to the doubles—though that had its enjoyments as well, but the thing about the team curling is they spend so goddamn much time standing around talking about it. Like, dudes, it’s so fucking obvious, and they always wind up doing the one thing they’d said they would, and really they could have taken twenty fewer minutes and just done it from the beginning.

Danny loves it.

All of the sledding sports have a certain kind of appeal, because while he hopes to god no one actually gets hurt, watching the little touches, the miniscule mistakes, so clearly play out further down the track always feels like some kind of justification for being more careful in the first damn place. (As if Steve would somehow learn something from all of this. In Danny’s dreams.) And, he’d quite like to know, Danny would, who decided that luge wasn’t _enough_ and fucking face first was by far the superior way to hurtle one’s self down a track of rock hard ice at a million miles per second. But honestly, any sport that requires shoes or gloves with tiny, knife-like spikes on them, well, it’s some form of satisfying for certain.

He gives anything on actual _snow_ a miss—the skiing and snowboarding starts to blend after about ten minutes, what’s the difference between doing that in the air thing with skis as opposed to a board? Besides. All of it makes Danny’s knees hurt.

But, oh god, and please do not tell Steven. Dear god, no. But. His favorite, and the one thing that’s going to save him from the stupid insanity of two days off in the middle of the week with no kids and nothing much to do... the one thing that will save Danny’s sanity is the full-event-replay... of figure skating.

Seriously. Do not tell Steve.

So, of course. Danny’s about thirty minutes in to the ice dance short program replay when Steve fucking lets himself into Danny’s house, and Danny, being in a piss-poor mood, and ornery as all get out, leaves it on, leaves it playing, and gives Steve a glare that clearly says “mock me and die.”

Steve doesn’t look taken aback; he doesn’t look anything other than completely accepting.

He’s also carrying two large and very full bags of something. And he nods to Danny, but says nothing, and heads to the kitchen.

A couple of short programs, some delightfully colorful commentary, and a string of commercials later, Steve emerges with two mugs of steaming something, and the smell, from the kitchen, of something savory in the oven.

He sets one mug down in front of Danny, nudges his legs up enough to sit beneath them, then allows them to plunk back down in his lap, smoothing the blanket back out over Danny’s stockinged feet. (He’s wearing his hot cocoa and donut socks, just so you know.)

“So, who’s leading?” Steve asks, as if he would have any idea if Danny told him.

“What are you baking in my kitchen?” Danny asks instead. And he hates that his tone is more genuinely interested and less irritated, as he’d intended.

“Something yummy,” is all Steve will say, and he gestures to Danny’s steaming drink, the whipped topping slowly dissolving into the creamy whatever-it-is. He smells cinnamon, possibly vanilla, and some decidedly boozy note as well.

Steve’s sipping his slowly but steadily, as though he’s determined to get a good dose of it in him, like it’s something medicinal. Maybe it is. Danny sits and picks his up and starts to drink it, and he’s overwhelmed with the heat of cinnamon schnapps, something creamy that reminds him of half melted vanilla ice cream, and a distant hint of cocoa. Danny gets a bit lost in it, to be honest, and when Steve reacts to a particularly impressive twizzle sequence, Danny nearly snorts in his mug. 

Several programs later, and Steve gets up to check on the food, coming out mere moments later with a large plate piled with assorted puff pastry nibbly type things, not bothering to say which is what, holds it in his lap, and offers a napkin to Danny. They basically devour them, burning the roofs of their mouths and not really minding much at all.

When the ice dance replay is over, Danny navigates back to the main screen, thinking he’ll offer something more up Steve’s alley, like ice wrestling, which, really, he’s surprised isn’t a thing. Biathlon maybe—that seems just about sadistic enough for Steve, plus it’s the only one with weapons.

But Steve says: “Can we watch the men’s long programs? I’d love to see Adam Rippon again.”

Danny just stares.

“What? He’s amazing! He’s in such fantastic shape, did you see how he pulled himself out of that botched jump? Sheer strength. Plus, the whole birds theme. It’s just... so beautiful.”

Danny presses play.

They watch all the men’s long programs, even the young guys who don’t quite have the same edge quality or artistic expression yet, and they talk about how much fun it will be to see them in four years in Beijing. And maybe they drink quite a bit. And don’t eat as much as probably they should. Except when Steve brings out butterscotch cookies that are still soft and not entirely baked as well as they could be. And when it’s late and they’re starting to yawn, Danny gets up and locks the door and turns out the light.

“No driving home for you, babe. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

And they curl up together in bed, and maybe they snore a bit, and nuzzle a bit, and dream of triple axels and attempted quads, and sparkly costumes, and maybe winter isn’t so completely horrible after all.

Besides. It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow, and maybe they’ll go surfing.


	30. Two in the Morning, When I Can’t Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little comfort fluff I wrote for my sleep deprived self.....
> 
> **Please note:** Spoiler alert for vague mentions of season eight related content (eps 14 and on), just very slight, and sub-plot stuff, but it’s there.

It’s been a thing he’s dealt with his whole life, this whole middle of the night, wide awake thing. Only for specific chunks of time, usually not more than a few days in a row, scattered here and there, and maybe it feels like they’re more clustered during spring and fall, less so in the depths of winter (not that it’s really a thing in Hawaii, so much) and in the height of summer. He’s never really thought too much about that—why it would be spring and fall more so than winter or summer, but hell, it’s 2:33 am. What the fuck else is he gonna think about? Maybe it’s a transitional thing. Maybe our ancestors needed to be awake in the middle of the night to—seriously, what, check that the crops were growing? Shit. He thinks it would be amusing to take a lantern out to the garden and yell “Now, seeds, start growing!”

Well, if he’s gonna be up, may as well amuse himself.

(And, yes, he sometimes does _that_ too, and it’s never even remotely satisfying and if anything it only makes it worse, which is so stupidly frustrating and dumb. But he still tries it sometimes.)

Sometimes he fights it, by which he means, stays in bed, lights off, and tries to, what? Convince himself that sleep is important? Yeah, because, ohhh, in that case, I’d better sleep then, why didn’t you just say so?

Sometimes he stays in bed, pulls the blankets over his head, and reads something on his phone, or fucking plays stupid solitaire, and could there be a name for a game that’s a little more depressing and indicative of one’s relationship status? That’d be great, thanks. Because when you’re awake at three am, you know, being _alone_ makes everything so much more pleasant and comforting. Yeah.

There are some nights when he gets up and goes into the kitchen.... Sometimes he winds up getting a glass of water and trying to go back to bed. Sometimes he has a bowl of cereal, and there’s that temptation to just have coffee and fucking get on with it, but he knows if he does, he’s gonna be asleep at his desk by eleven. A few times, over the years, he’s wound up baking. (If Danny ever brings baked goods into work, you know he was up at two fucking am.) Those are actually somewhat satisfying times. Baked goods seem to appreciate the early hour, and cake in particular somehow comes out lighter and more perfect. Maybe there’s some kind of universal consciousness of early morning bakers that insures a better rise of dough or something. Focused intent. But honestly, a lot of those early morning kitchen times turn into eating leftovers right out of the container, standing by the sink. He’s not proud of it, but it happens.

Sometimes, if the kids aren’t over, he goes out to the living room, puts the TV on, and flomps down on the sofa, pulling the throw over him, and zoning out to an infomercial.

He’s on day three or four—at this point he’s honestly not really solidly sure—and he’s slipped into that less resistant, _well here we fucking are again_ , let’s just bring on the tradition and go with it, so he grabs his pillow, gets a bottle of water from the fridge, sinks heavily onto the sofa, and clicks on some shopping something. The things people will buy off TV... he’s watched a lot of it over the years, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever understood it. If you asked him, he’d probably say something like “Well, but no one actually buys that shit, it’s all just some fake bull they put on for people who can’t sleep... _right_?”

It’s not like he’s watching it for the content.

Problem tonight is, he was so fucking tired he went to bed early. So, his body is half convinced it’s really just time to get up. Four hours is a nice amount of sleep, why is he being ornery and wanting more? And, if he had the kind of job where he could get up and get a head start, he probably would... but he knows he’d regret it, because it’s not like he could do the work now and then sleep later. Still, part of his brain is thinking about asking Steve if they can convert that extra space in the corner to a nap area. Those nap-anywhere-pods are kinda cool, and yeah, okay, he thinks about it. Napping facilities should really exist in work places anyway, it’d just be admitting the reality of life. It would be very civilized.

He’s fallen a bit further into dreaming of a utopia where napping is considered enough a part of functional life that he doesn’t have to stress so damn much about the not-sleeping nights, when he sees headlights in his drive. He recognizes the height and brightness and even the color of them, and that probably says something about his relationship with Steve right there. What it doesn’t explain is what the hell Steve’s doing at his house at... ten to three in the morning. Well, unless it’s a case, but then Steve always calls on his way over.

He opens the door as Steve’s getting out of the truck, stands there in his doorway, feeling that early-morning-slash-late-night breeze that always feels so much more _real_ , and finds himself feeling oddly... _relieved_.

“Hey, buddy, saw the TV on, so I thought I’d come check on you....”

They hug on the doorstep, and Danny must be lightheaded from lack of sleep or something because part of his body seems to think that just falling into those arms would be really really nice....

Steve kicks his shoes off and makes himself comfortable on the sofa.

“What, you saw my TV from your place?” Danny knows it makes no sense, but give him a break, it’s three am.

“Nah, silly. I was at Adam’s working out some stuff about Jessie. We lost track of time. I was heading home, thought I may as well swing by here make sure you were okay....” Steve’s clearly realized, part way through that, he’s admitting he’s been worried about Danny, he’s noticed Danny’s been....Well. Tired and crabby, probably. It’s probably not all that hard for him to pick up on it, when Danny’s not sleeping well. Not after all these years.

Danny sighs, allows himself to settle on the sofa next to Steve. He’s spread himself out, arms wide, as though he expects it, so....  

“Can’t sleep, huh, buddy?” Steve asks Danny’s hair, once he’s up against his side, letting his heavy head rest against Steve’s stupidly comforting chest.

“Didn’t try fighting it tonight.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that ‘fighting’ and ‘sleep’ really shouldn’t belong in the same sentence?”

“No, you jerk, I’ve never thought about it that way.”

Steve chuckles softly, and the vibrations feel oddly soothing to Danny in a way he thinks he should recognize but doesn’t.

“Maybe some nice music would be better than a program about household cleaning appliances?”

“How do you know I’m not actually in the market for a... whatever the fuck that thing is?”

Steve sighs. “Because, buddy, I know you, I know _this_....” And suddenly Danny wonders if Steve really was at Adam’s, or if he didn’t just know Danny’s routine a little too well....

Danny yawns, and that’s interesting. He snuggles more solidly against Steve, and murmurs “Mmmm,” noncommittally, then asks, just for kicks: “What time does Leonard’s open?”

Which makes Steve laugh softly. “If they were open at two thirty I would have gladly brought you malasadas, buddy, but I don’t think sugar’s really the best thing to help you sleep better.”

“Mmm, probably not,” Danny admits. “Although you never know....”

Steve wraps his arm more tightly around Danny, tugging him closer to his chest, almost as if he’s trying to shelter him, or wrap him up in some bubble of space where sleep can happen. It feels a little to Danny like it might actually work, as he yawns again and finds himself thinking this is really nice. Then he actually begins to drift off, surprisingly, but blissfully.... He’s just thinking how almost magical this is, when Steve turns the sound down on the TV—and Danny hadn’t even realized Steve had grabbed the remote, but he grunts a little, maybe kind of nuzzles against Steve’s chest, and drifts all the way off.

He wakes just slightly, sometime later to find the TV’s off, and Steve’s sleeping softly next to him. Smiling and feeling far happier than he thinks he should, he falls easily back asleep, without even trying.

When he stirs in the morning, he’s alone on the sofa, but the smell of coffee and bacon’s coming from the kitchen, so he knows he’s not alone in the house, and, well, heck. This is quite the service, he muses. Steve’s lulling-to-sleep and then providing-sustenance-in-the-morning... that’s something Danny could grow to truly depend on.

He doesn’t voice that to Steve, just thanks him and tries not to be too awkward about how easily he’d fallen asleep in his partner’s arms. And after that he’s back to his normal sleeping pattern and he almost even forgets about it... until a few weeks later, when he’s having trouble sleeping again.

Danny thinks he does a decent job of hiding it, the fact that he was up half the night. He’s always told himself that no one else can tell until a few days in—usually because he snaps, or kind of softly falls apart until someone stokes him up with sugar and caffeine, or because he gets caught with his head down on his desk. And maybe he’s just being oddly suspicious, or maybe he’s remembered what Steve did last time and how much it helped.... But Danny feels Steve _knows_. He thinks he can see it in those hazel eyes as they look quizzically at him over the tech table while they’re working through some intel. When Steve insists they break for lunch rather than just grabbing something on the go, and gets Danny out for a real meal and insists he eat some good protein, Danny thinks Steve’s guessed. When he allows his coffee to be refilled twice, and Steve glares judgmentally at him, Danny’s sure Steve knows. He just shrugs, because what the hell else is he supposed to do? He has to actually get work done.

And then at two thirty that following morning, Danny’s up, in the kitchen, contemplating a box of leftovers, when he sees a light outside, and sure enough, Steve’s truck’s in the drive....

Danny lets him in.

Steve settles on the sofa, turns the TV on, but low.

“Come on, buddy.”

“Don’t tell me you were at Adam’s again.”

“Just come here.”

He thinks about fighting this, but he really doesn’t want to. The second night’s always the hardest, because you’re not sleep deprived enough yet to settle into it, so there tends to be more of the fighting it, and Steve’s right. Fight and sleep are two words that suck to use in the same thought. So, he permits himself a bit of a sigh, then curls up—oh, so gratefully—next to Steve.

It’s not as immediate a thing tonight as it was before, that comfort washing over him. But he moves so his ear is resting close to Steve’s heart, and he’s not really sure why he should find that as soothing as he does, maybe it’s just always a relief to Danny to be aware of Steve’s continued existence, but it does lull him towards restfulness, and that is something for which he’s endlessly thankful. Even just to not feel that jumpy, agitated, irksome sparking energy.

Steve’s holding on to him less tightly than he did last time, but Danny doesn’t know how to ask for more, so he pushes this idea that Steve’s somehow just shown up again, right when Danny wasn’t sleeping.

“Is everything okay with Jessie?”

Steve brings a hand up to Danny’s head, as though he’s instinctively protecting him more at the thought. “I think so, but Adam’s worried she’s in over her head. He feels guilty. Something he seems to do a lot of....”

“Well, he feels responsible, you have to understand that. It’s not quite the same as ordering a soldier into battle.”

“Actually, it really is a lot like that.”

“Well, maybe Adam’s just not the type to have that sit easily with him.”

“No... maybe not.” Steve does, then, wrap his arms more solidly about Danny, holding him in such a way that makes him think maybe Steve came as much for himself as for some noble notion that he could get Danny to sleep. “Now, shhhh,” Steve whispers, lips pressing against Danny’s hair. “Sleep.”

And maybe it’s the reassuring beat of Steve’s heart, maybe it’s the bodily warmth that’s somehow primally comforting, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but Danny does start to drift towards sleep not long after. Just as he starts to fade off, he whispers “Thank you, babe,” and feels a soft hum from Steve’s chest in response.

It’s coffee and eggs and toast the next morning, and Danny thinks to himself as he showers that Steve could seriously market this service and probably make a killing doing it. His blood kind of surges at the thought, though, because he doesn’t think he wants Steve doing this for anyone else... and that might be when he starts to think there might be something more than just practical preventative medicine going on with this—either just from his own perspective, or possibly from Steve’s, he’s not going to speculate. Well, not on an empty stomach.

That night he sleeps a little restlessly, but on the whole better than usual. But after a few nights alone, he starts to realize he misses... _the company_ , maybe that’s what it is. It’s nice to have someone at night, to not be alone with the sleeping thing. Well, and the coffee in the morning thing too. That’s nice to not do alone either.

Probably he’s just getting soft in his old age. Not that he’s ever _liked_ being alone, mind you. But it’s never _upset_ him like this before. He looks at the clock. It’s only midnight.

This is different. Usually with the not sleeping, he falls asleep normally, sleeps for two or three hours, and then is up as though it’s morning, only to fall soundly asleep just before the time he’s actually meant to be up. This restlessness, this mind-racing, mind thinking—with the not sleeping at two am, there’s no thinking, it’s just... awakeness. Non-functioning awakeness. This is utterly aware, totally mindful of... _longing_ , he has to call it. That’s what it feels like. A craving. Like he’s missing, physically, painfully, that warmth, that comfort, of sleeping against Steve’s solid, sure, protective frame.

Well. This will be interesting. Maybe it’s just some passing phase, he thinks. Yeah, that must be it. Maybe he’s coming down with something and just feeling extra needy like you do when you’re about to get sick. Probably nothing to worry about, probably he’ll just have a cold, and then be back to normal. Normal being where he doesn’t lie awake at night wishing his partner were here to hold him while he sleeps. Because... that’s not normal. That’s not... that’s not a good idea. It’s not, right?

He does fall asleep. And maybe he dreams about fluffy bunnies and talking flowers and sparkles that fall like rain. Or maybe he dreams about Steve. In his bed.

Neither of those is a particularly comfortable thought.

But the next day’s a rough one, and at the end of it, he’s in Steve’s office helping with the last of the paperwork, and they wind up just kind of standing there looking a little uneasily at each other. Thing is, probably Danny will sleep well tonight. He almost always does after exhausting cases, even if it winds up being more a passing out from sheer drainedness than a fully restful slumber. But the thing is. He really just cannot stand the thought of going home to an empty house tonight.

“Come back to mine for some food?” He offers, hoping Steve will say yes.

Steve tries to read something in Danny’s expression, and Danny’s not sure if he does or not, but Steve nods and says “Yeah, of course.”

Danny just makes some pasta, with some meatballs from the freezer, and they don’t talk much, but they do eat at the table, which is kind of civilized and domestic and sweet, and Danny thinks he likes it a lot more than he probably should.

They’re washing the dishes after, and Steve catches Danny’s glance. It’s possible he was looking slightly uncomfortably at him, slightly sideways, maybe trying to work out how totally awkward it would be if he asked him to sleep over....

“Do you want me to stay, buddy?” Steve asks, very softly, very tentatively.

It’s one thing, Danny thinks, to show up in the middle of the night and rescue him from his lack of sleep. It’s another thing altogether to be there at the _start_ of the night. It’s a very different thing, and it feels like an important shift. Hugely important. Hugely... _huge_.

“Could you?” He asks, not wanting to demand, not wanting Steve to feel obligated. Needing it to be authentic if he says _Yes_....

Steve smiles. “Of course, Danny. But. Uh. Maybe we could try....” And he can’t seem to finish the thought, but Danny doesn’t think he needs to.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

And Steve, Danny is pretty sure, blushes.

Probably it should be a lot more awkward than it is, getting ready for bed together, Steve borrowing a tee and boxers from Danny, doing his best with mouthwash and dental floss in place of a toothbrush, climbing into bed, actual bed... which is a whole galaxy away from sitting on a sofa, even as cuddled together as they always are on the sofa. But once they’re in, they settle against each other so easily, it’s almost as though they’ve done this before, and it doesn’t seem very strange at all when Steve leans down and kisses Danny... _right on the lips_.

“Night buddy.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Danny muses, as he squirms a little closer against Steve’s side. “ _Nice_.” He meant to say _Night_ but decides that _Nice_ is really what it is. Very, very _nice_ indeed.

It’s also very, very nice waking up to a minty kiss and a mug of coffee and a request for his breakfast order. He sleepily stays in bed for a few sips before dragging himself into the bathroom for a quick rinse then to the kitchen for more—coffee or kisses, he’s not sure which he means, not sure which he’ll get.... Turns out he gets both, and a smack on the ass as well, for distracting the chef. He gets fed eggs and fresh fruit (which he didn’t even know he had, so that’s weird), then told to shower and go to work, and with one more quick peck on the lips, Steve’s out the door, presumably to head home for his own shower and fresh clothes.

Danny’s little bubble of contentment lasts him partway through the day, till they’re out on a case, Steve’s racing the Camaro through the streets, and Danny can only think of one thing. He really, really wants to kiss Steve. It’s kind of driving him crazy and he’s worried he’s going to be distracted, but once he’s out of the car he does flip into case mode, and everyone’s safe in the end.

They’re the last two in the office at the end of the day, and Danny finds himself really wanting Steve to come over again, and totally unsure at all how to ask, or even _if_ to ask.

So, they’re sitting there in Steve’s office, having hit submit on the paperwork, and Steve’s eyeing Danny in an apprising way, and after a while, he sighs.

“I’m just gonna say this, and you can do with it what you want, buddy, but I really enjoyed last night and if you want to do it again, anytime, just... say so.”

Danny doesn’t even hesitate. “How ‘bout tonight?”

A crooked grin spreads across Steve’s face. “Guess it’s good I packed a bag, then, when I went home this morning... just in case....”

Looking around him to make sure the others really have gone, Danny scoots closer to Steve. “There’s just one thing....”

His eyebrows go up, a truly interested expression on his face.

“So, I’ve kind of been wanting to kiss you all day....”

Interest blooms to delight. “Oh, yeah?”

Danny sighs. “ _Yeah_.” Of course Steve’s going to make this as frustrating as he can.

“Well, are you gonna do something about that?” He leans back in his chair and spreads his arms out, as though waiting for Danny to prove something.

So, he does. He settles himself on Steve’s lap, pulls him upright against Danny’s chest, and takes their kissing to a whole new level, one from which he knows there’s no going back, no ambiguity, no subtlety, nothing but pure, obvious _want_.

When he finally lets Steve go, he’s very pleased with the reaction on Steve’s face. “Yeah, we’d better go home right now, buddy,” he whispers.

So they do. And somehow they manage to eat, shower, and get ready for bed before they fall all over themselves falling all over each other.

It’s quick, and it’s grasping, and it’s not romantic so much as it’s practical, but it’s kind of fucking fantastic anyway, and there is no doubt it’s just barely the beginning. And after, they’re cuddled up, limbs intertwined, sticky and sweaty and languid and so contented. And Steve asks.

“So, if I always sleep with you, will you always sleep well?”

Danny has to think about it for a moment. And the thing is, he honestly has no idea. It hasn’t ever been the case before, but he’s not even going to pretend to compare any of his previous relationships with the relationship he knows he and Steve are capable of having, so he supposes it’s entirely possible that, yeah, if Steve were in his bed every single night, he might sleep perfectly fine, all the time. But, that’s not exactly plausible, and even if it were, he’s not sure there’s not just something fundamentally wrong with the way he was put together that just simply means sometimes sleeping sucks.

He thinks he manages to convey the gist of that to Steve, peppered with kisses and some caresses, and he’s not disappointed. Steve seems very much like he’s planning on taking it as a challenge.... And, it seems to Danny, that if Steve sets his mind to it, in all likelihood, he’ll figure it out. One way or another.

For now, though.... Heck. He’ll take this. Fuck yeah.


End file.
